Where Words Fail: Book 8: Coming Full Circle
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: Time is running low for the Freedom Fighters as Sozin's Comet draws closer. Smellerbee and Longshot need to pull together every ally they'd made during their travels if they want any chance of keeping the Fire Nation from destroying the world...
1. Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 1: Break on through to the other side**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Bay_

_11 days until Sozin's Comet_

They'd made it.

They'd finally made it!

The only thing separating the Freedom Fighters from the shore was, if the map they'd bought in one of the Fire Nation towns on the way here was correct, some woods. Nothing they couldn't overcome.

Spanning out around them, on all sides, the woods were made up of trees with a thick canopy of emerald leaves, with thick, sturdy trunks the same bleached-white color of bones, and through them, Smellerbee could pick up the scent of the sea. It was salty, lofted alongside the odor of fish...smelling it now brought back flickers of the ferry ride to Ba Sing Se, where the same scent was the only thing that smelled _good_. You stick a hundred refugees on a boat, many of which without the common sense, desire or opportunity to bathe as they sought a safehaven, and give them thin, watery soup that reeked of bad onions, and the result is toe-curling. It had taken a lot of willpower to keep from gagging during the ride.

Funny, how polar the reasons for the two journeys were.

Still, the memories were just that - memories. Here and now, the ocean smelled fresh, cooling...even though it was summer, and it was balls-ass hot, a breeze combed Smellerbee's cheek, making her sigh. She could hear gulls squawking in the distance, the leaves of the trees whispering at each other, waves crashing against the shore she couldn't see. This really wasn't a bad place, all things considered. The sun hung high in the sky, a few gray-white clouds flecked across azure blue. It'd be noon in less than an hour; the day was young.

"Hey, Smellerbee?"

The swordswoman blinked - had forgotten where she was for a moment there. She shook her head to clear out the cobwebs and glanced over to the speaker, Pestle. The blond Earthbender fidgeted, gnawed on her lower lip, glanced left, right, and left again; this was normal behavior for her, it had been for years, but Smellerbee had noticed a distinct difference from before the Overdweller and after. Before, Pestle fidgeted because she was shy; people intimidated her, and she had been paranoid of saying the wrong thing, of offending people or leaving herself open to be made fun of. She had been insecure, especially if Mortar hadn't been around to back her up. Now, though...now, she fidgeted because she was trying to figure out her life. It was aggressive fidgeting, if that made sense. She hated being here, hated wearing Fire Nation clothes, hated hiding in plain sight like this.

Pestle's venomous attitude towards anything Fire Nation was unsettling, and Smellerbee saw way too much of herself in the younger girl. Too much of how she _used_ to be, before Aang had entered their lives, just full to bursting of anger and rage when it came to their enemy, so furious, and the only way to really vent that fury when it hit its peek was to kill, and kill, and kill. While their invasion of the Fire Nation had been mostly successful, there had been one town where the local military outpost had figured out that the Freedom Fighters weren't natives, and another where Chameleon had been swept up into a barroom brawl that eventually extended to most of the Freedom Fighters they'd brought with them. In both fights, Pestle had put herself right on the front line, swinging her hammers, each impact heavy and hard, most lethal; she fought recklessly, didn't pay attention to her surroundings, to the enemies bearing down on her...she fought self-destructively.

Saying Smellerbee was concerned was a huge understatement.

She'd tried keeping Pestle in good spirits during the trip, because walking on eggshells around the girl wouldn't have done her any favors, and Chameleon had noticed and tried to help, but Mortar's death was too recent, and the girl was still confused. Smellerbee, with Cham's help, would wrench a giggle out of her every now and then, would get her to unwind for a night here and a lunch break there, but mostly she was annoyed, or depressed, or angry, or all three.

"What's going on, Pestle?" Smellerbee asked.

"Sneers wants to see you. Somebody's been here ahead of us, probably recently."

Smellerbee narrowed her eyes. "Really, now?." Shit...she hadn't even thought of that. She heaved a heavy sigh; Longshot was so close, and the thought of his proximity made Smellerbee want to jump out of her skin to save him that much faster, but they'd come this far being careful and they couldn't afford to stop now. "Alright. Come on, Pestle."

"Huh? Why me?"

Why her, indeed? Smellerbee turned the question over in her head a few times, trying to piece out a reasonable answer. Pestle wasn't really good at tracking, and she wasn't _officially_ in any sort of command for this mission...but it felt important somehow, a niggling sensation Smellerbee couldn't shrug off. She adjusted the brim of Longshot's hat and fixed the young Earthbender with a grin. "Why not? You might learn something."

Pestle shrugged, glanced away; Smellerbee saw her fists clench at her sides and resisted the urge to sigh. There wasn't anything to do at this point but move forward.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Pestle hunched over Smellerbee and Sneers as the swordswoman crouched down, examining the freshly-churned dirt with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose. She ghosted her fingertips across the edge of the footprint she'd chosen, narrow and thin with three long toes that ended in bulbous protrusions. Wherever a bulb had made contact with the ground, a glistening residue had been left behind, coating the dirt. Pestle didn't need to be an expert tracker to figure that the stuff was sticky and slimy.

"What do we have?" Sneers asked, glancing over to Smellerbee. "I mean, it's obvious they're reptiles or amphibians..."

"Looks like five creatures, medium length, medium weight," Smellerbee murmured.. "I can't tell exactly what animal, but you're probably right about them being amphibian. The footprints are deep enough that somebody's gotta be riding them. At least, _some_ of them, anyway. A few of the tracks are shallower than the others. They're fresh, too. They couldn't have come through this way more than fifteen minutes ago."

"Should we ready a treetop offensive?" Sneers asked, and Pestle could almost hear the resentment in his voice for having to kowtow to Smellerbee; without the Boss Pants, he had to have almost everything approved. Pestle knew that, once upon a time, Smellerbee would have delighted being in this position and dangled it over the monk's head, but ever since the swordswoman had come back, she'd been...different. Not completely serious, though she had her cold moments...she just wasn't so, so youthful anymore.

She'd seen Jet die...that must have done it. Because Pestle had seen Mortar die, and the world had become funny and different around her, so the same had to apply to Smellerbee. She'd adapted really well, at least.

Pestle wasn't sure she'd be able to do the same.

Smellerbee paused to consider Sneers' question before giving a slow nod. "Yeah. We'll send Tinker and Scribbler ahead to scout while the rest of us mobilize." Turning to Pestle, the swordswoman added, "Could you go get them and spread the word to get ready?"

"Mmm. Sure, I guess." Pestle stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned on a heel, making towards the others.

As she walked, she started picking at the crimson tunic she'd chosen back in Hong Ye; before leaving, the Freedom Fighters had raided their stores for the Fire Nation clothing they'd lifted from any traders unfortunate enough to pass through the forest, because - apparently - everybody in this Spirits-forsaken place wore red and black. Pestle hated it; every moment she spent in the new tunic, with the yellow sash and maroon pants, was torture. It made her skin crawl, left her feeling icky every time she peeled them off to bathe, as if they'd been thrown in the mud despite how thoroughly the Freedom Fighters had cleaned their spoils. This was the skin of the enemy, of the Fire Nation...Jet had been right, they were nothing but overzealous thieves, taking whatever they wanted no matter who suffered.

Ugh, it was like being covered in _slime_.

She wondered...would Mortar...if their roles were reversed, if Pestle had been the one to die...would Mortar have had the strength to do the same thing? To have to hide when she ought to be taking action, especially this deep in enemy territory? To wear these disgusting clothes...? She - she would have, it was silly to even think anything else. Mortar had already been so much stronger, she would have gone through anything for Pestle...

...right?

Right.

The other Freedom Fighters had hung back while Pestle, Smellerbee and Sneers had advanced, lounging around Surestance, Fletcher, and the cart of supplies harnessed behind them...waiting, because they knew they were close to Pan Xing Island. Normally they would chat, but now...now it was just silence, waiting, the atmosphere some screwed up mish-mash of oppressing heat (and it _was_ hot, stupid summer in the stupid Fire Nation) and electrified anticipation. They'd traveled long and far, they'd finally reached their goal.

When Pestle drew close, she felt her friends' eyes drawn to her...as if she carried an answer the others didn't have, as if - laughably so - she were also one of Smellerbee's lieutenants. She really wasn't, and she allowed herself a bittersweet smirk at the thought of having power without her sister to support her. And a lifetime ago, being the center of attention like this...everybody's gaze fixed to the young Earthbender...it would have been paralyzing, mortifying, because it would have been so easy to do something stupid and to screw up and to be made fun of.

Not anymore, though.

"A set of people have passed through the woods ahead of us, very recently," Pestle announced, planting one hand on the cart. "Tink, Scrib."

"Yeah?" The latter twin asked, running a hand through her sand-brown hair, glancing over to the former. The two of them...before the world had gone all funny and cold, they'd coaxed The Nightmare out of Pestle, goaded her into sharing with them the vivid dream that had turned into a very literal premonition...and ever since the Overdweller had been killed, the pair had almost been avoiding the Earthbender. It was probably for the best, because she knew she wasn't the best company right now anyway. Not to mention the fact that they'd been the ones to make her verbalize her fears, to give them heft and power...it wasn't fair to Tinker and Scribbler, but Pestle was kinda mad at them for pulling the words out.

"We need to know what we're going up against. Take to the trees and scout ahead; if there's an enemy ahead, don't engage them, just haul ass back here and give a report to Smellerbee or Sneers." It wasn't easy keeping her voice in check...to stay terse, to keep it from wobbling and catching, because - imaginary lieutenant or not - Smellerbee was still counting on her. "The rest of you that are combat-ready, get ready to fight. Once we know what we're dealing with, we're gonna mobilize."

With that, Pestle hoisted herself up into the cart; they'd draped a dust-red blanket over its contents, and all it took was a flick of the wrist to find the prize. Sure, there were actual traveling supplies in here, like hunting sets, jerky and water pouches, but the Freedom Fighters had predominantly used this to carry their weapons and armor without drawing too much attention to themselves. Pestle reached down and grabbed her battle hammers, the same ones she'd picked up in the - the forest, the grips rough and cold and powerful.

They would be enough.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Three men, one woman, and one boy. That's what Tinker and Scribbler had reported, and between them five giant lizards - mongoose dragons, based on the twins' description. Smellerbee turned this knowledge over in her head as she leapt from one tree branch to the next, the wind raking her cheeks, her leg and abdomen muscles on fire, her breath raw in her throat, her calves and thighs coiling and aching and _alive_. The tree branches were sturdy, they supported her and her Freedom Fighters, and even though the colors were all wrong and they weren't nearly as grand as Hong Ye's trees, they were still a decent substitute. It was funny: if you had asked Smellerbee three seasons ago, she would have sworn up and down that the Fire Nation didn't have any trees, that the place had to be so desolate and hopeless. How else could it spurn the monsters that had given birth to the Freedom Fighters in the first place?

Smellerbee remembered being that person and shuddered. She was glad she'd changed. She'd been so full of...of hate, so angry, never looking at the bigger picture, just knowing that she had to do what she could to keep her family safe, getting a laceration of revenge here, a limb of redemption there. Now, the bigger picture couldn't have been any clearer.

Flitting amongst the canopy, Smellerbee heard the seven Freedom Fighters she'd brought along with her at her back, among them Pestle and Chameleon; Sneers stayed back with Kuei and the rest, waiting for Smellerbee's signal. She didn't need anybody else.

Jet's swords pressed against Smellerbee's back. She'd left Longshot's bow with the cart, though; they didn't have any arrows, and even if they did, she wasn't any good with the damn thing. She still wore his hat though, and had pulled the brim down, blocking out the sun. Being so close to him...it didn't feel quite right, wearing the hat anymore, almost as if bringing it along for this small mission had been a mistake.

Whatever. The hat and its wafting trail of symbolism would have to suck it up.

Ahead, Smellerbee saw the tree line drawing closer; she came to a stop on one branch and held up a fist, and the whispering, grinding sound of boots or bare feet on bark came to a stop behind her. Pestle hopped over to Smellerbee's branch, leaning forward and scrutinizing the scene laid out before them.

It was like what the twins had said: three men, one woman, one boy, gathered near the shore with five mongoose dragons idling nearby, croaking into the wind.

"The woman and two of the men are wearing red," Pestle murmured, and Smellerbee could see her jaw working. "Fire Nation."

She was right about that much. Of the two men in question, one was bald and built like a mountain, certainly not as gargantuan as Pipsqueak, but pretty close; the other, while shorter by at least a head, was still well-built and had mocha-colored skin, and his hair - a shade of brown just a bit darker than his skin - had been pulled back into a ponytail. Both wore tattered, dark-orange shirts and pants, with brown leather slippers...they looked like prisoner's clothes more than anything else. Had they just escaped from Pan Xing? If so, it might be just the distraction Smellerbee's party would need.

The other man and the boy, though - they dressed in pale greens and yellows, giving off a more Earth Kingdom-y vibe. The latter of the two sat in a wheeled chair of some sort, with his legs wrapped in bandages...that was an unusual thing in and of itself, but a traveling party with natives from both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom set off a warning bell in Smellerbee's head. One side or the other had defected, but which one was which?

That left the woman. Smellerbee narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out the details: she wore robes of maroon layered over black, with long, flowing sleeves and her legs obscured. The robes themselves were tattered and filthy, they'd obviously seen better days, but there was something familiar about them. This sense of de ja vu was only accentuated by her hair, tied back into two buns that let a stream of hair fall from each, and...

...oh. Huh.

"What the hell is she doing all the way out here, I wonder...?" The swordswoman pursed her lips.

"You know the woman?" Pestle asked.

"We met in Omashu." Smellerbee rubbed her chin. "She's the girlfriend of Zuko, and a friend to Azula, the crowned Prince and Princess of the Fire Nation. She's a noble, but her status with both Zuko and Azula would mean she should be anywhere _but_ Pan Xing Bay, with Sozin's Comet so close - "

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Without another word, Pestle leapt away from the tree, out into the open, bringing her hammers to bear.

"_Pestle!_" Smellerbee called, before dropping a silent curse. She signaled for the other Freedom Fighters to follow suit; Smellerbee jumped out into the open (_curl into a ball, plant a hand against the rugged ground, roll, draw the swords!_), wind hot and raw against her cheeks, what was that girl _thinking_?

**SCENE DIVIDE**

A Fire Nation noble, all buddy-buddy with two of the most important political figures in the Fire Nation? No freakin' contest, she had to go, she was a blight on the face of the planet, and if Smellerbee wanted to sit and wait in the trees, then she damn well _could_. Pestle pinwheeled her hammers around herself, and, and all she'd need to do was slam one of them down to the ground, her target was within range. She brought both hammers up, over her head, down into the rocky shore, a pillar of earth rising up beneath the woman, would launch her into the ocean -

- the Fire Nation woman reacted too fast! She had felt the blow coming even though she had had her back turned, or maybe one of her friends had said something, but she used the pillar as a springboard, leapt clear of the attack. Pestle grunted, swung her hammers around again - lost her balance! - threw one leg out to stabilize herself, slammed the ground with both weapons -

A wall! From Pestle's left, so close she could feel flecks of dirt and pebbles pelt her, a stone wall rose from the ground. She crashed into it, hard, shoulder alight with pain - at first, so confused, but at the back of her mind - the man dressed in greens and browns, must have been an Earthbender! Pestle pushed away from the wall and, the thought of an Earthbender siding with somebody from the Fire Nation - it was like, like Jet, how he had died at the hands of the Earth Kingdom, and how _dare_ this son of a bitch be so presumptuous -

Another wall, blocking Pestle off again, her blonde hair swept back in the backdraft. She smashed the wall apart with the hammer - there! Mocha skin, hair held back with a headband, a fledgling moustache on his face - couldn't have been any older than Jet had been - brown eyes narrowed and dangerous, mouth set into a straight line. Fine. Pestle wasn't playing around either.

She planted her feet apart and raised one hammer over her head; with a roar, she slammed it down into the ground, the ground crumbling in a straight line from her to the Earthbender - he leapt clear, but Pestle was quick to react, stomping with her right foot, sinking into the earth up to her ankle. A small stump of stone jutted up in the man's path - he stumbled, fell, caught himself with one arm and rolled, picking up the stump with one hand and hurling it at Pestle. She raised one hammer out of instinct - the rock hit the handle, shattered, but sprayed Pestle's face with dust and pebbles, getting in her mouth - choking - she scrunched her eyes shut - blind, blind, shit, what would -

She felt the earth rumble beneath her feet, and before she knew it she'd been pitched sideways. One of the hammers slid free from her grip, but she threw the other one out to catch herself. Whirling upright, Pestle blinked - could kinda see, but she couldn't stop coughing - a blur of motion at her left - thrust the hammer straight outward like a sword, missed hitting the man as he cut around Pestle. Why wouldn't he hold still?

"Little kids shouldn't be playing with toys like that," the man lilted, and - was he smirking? Pestle couldn't tell, eyes had gone watery, but he _sounded_ like he was, and how _dare_ he treat her like a child? He didn't know! He had no idea what she'd been through - swung the hammer around, down, splitting the earth, blocking the man's path. He skidded to a stop, and Pestle thumped the ground with her foot again, a small rock shooting up beneath the man's right foot, throwing him to the ground. Pestle wiped her eyes with her free hand - there, could see better - she stomped the ground with the other foot, sending the man careening through the air -

- landed hard on his back, groaning, and all that was left was to land the finishing blow on this traitor -

- from the corner of her eyes, three flickers of silver -

- Smellerbee dashing beside her, faster than Pestle could really register -

- bringing one of Jet's swords to bear, knocking the three slivers away -

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Mai," Smellerbee said, glaring at the Fire Nation noble. Yes, she had definitely seen better days, and Smellerbee knew - she _knew_ - there was more to this than met the eye, but Mai had thrown her knives at Pestle, had intended on landing a killing blow.

The sun rose higher into the sky, and the bay was just yards away, bordered by this rocky plateau that was just barely high enough to avoid being swallowed up by the tide. Even though the other Freedom Fighters rushed into battle, engaging the enemy, all Smellerbee could hear was the sound of the waves crashing against the plateau, the squawking of squirrel gulls as they scouted the water for their next meal. A gentle breeze rolled over her, combing through her hair, making Mai's robes waft. Jet's swords shimmered in the sunlight. The knifethrower, like Smellerbee, remained poised to attack, had three kunai between the fingers of one hand, and her amber eyes glistened beneath a furrowed brow.

"Are you okay, Pestle?" Smellerbee asked, not taking her eyes off the Fire Nation noble before her.

"Y - " the young Earthbender coughed. "Yes."

"Good. You and I are gonna have a serious talk later." Turning her full attention to Mai, raising one sword up in front of her, Smellerbee said, "It's been a while."

"Omashu. Fun times." Mai rolled her eyes, her tone droll - just as Smellerbee remembered. "This trip has been boring as hell, so it'll be nice to let loose on you again."

Smellerbee felt a vicious grin slice her face, her cheeks tingling. "Likewise."

And - now! Smellerbee rushed to the right, swinging one of the swords around in a narrow arc - Mai tossed her kunai, and Smellerbee felt one scrape her thigh, but she'd have to do better than that if - an opening! The Freedom Fighter tightened her arc, came in with one sword drawn to her chest, brought it around - a quick slice would bring an end to this fight - but! Mai had seen the move coming, loosed a pair of flechettes from her sleeves, flipping one down - she'd block the swing, and that would leave Smellerbee vulnerable -

"_STOP!_"

The voice was loud enough to make Smellerbee stumble; the Freedom Fighter skidded to a halt, boots grinding against stone loosened from the ground by Pestle and the other Earthbender, missing her intended mark entirely. Mai likewise lost her balance, but managed to throw out a foot and catch herself, preserving what was left of her dignity. Smellerbee turned her attention in the direction of the voice that had interrupted her.. Who had yelled at them to...?

Wait.

Wait!

Short - shorter than Smellerbee, shorter than Pestle. Wearing a dusty green vest over a yellow tunic, with a pike in one hand, a pouch on his belt, and a helmet two sizes too big on his head, almost obscuring wide, round eyes.

No _way_.

"The Duke?" Smellerbee whispered.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

There was - holy crow! The Duke couldn't believe his eyes! He dropped his pike and dashed towards - towards Smellerbee, her older sister, a longtime friend, gone from his life for so long, almost permanently, but now! Now she was here, and his legs pumped, his lungs burned, his eyes - vision blurry - hard to see -

Before he knew it - warmth all around - Smellerbee's arms wrapped around him, and she, it was her, she was real, The Duke was holding her! She smelled of dust and sweat, of the road, and, and The Duke was laughing, he was crying too, but he was laughing, Smellerbee was laughing, and!

It had been far, _far_ too long.

"Where in the blue hell have you _been_?" Smellerbee asked, pulling The Duke away from her so she could look at him.

The Duke grinned - wide, cheeks tingling, chest tight - and straightened his helmet. "I could ask the same thing about you! When Sokka told us Jet had died - that you'd been with him - we thought you were...!"

"Pfft. Takes more than that to kill me," she replied, a sly, wicked grin crossing her face.

At last, Smellerbee let The Duke go; even still, The Duke couldn't stop grinning, and he glanced at the ground. "A guy steps away to go to the bathroom, and the entire world goes nuts."

"Tell me about it." Smellerbee laughed and planted her hands on The Duke's shoulders. "Jeez, it's like - I haven't seen you since we left for Ba Sing Se, and...it's like old times, I guess." She took a quick glance around; The Duke didn't need to follow where she was looking to know that she was sizing up his traveling party. "You've got some strange friends, though. The Fire Nation guys and Mai - they're with you?"

"Actually, I'm Water Tribe," Hakoda said, holding up a hand. "I just spent a few days in prison, is all. It's what you get for leading the Day of Black Sun Invasion."

Smellerbee looked about ready to say something - and paused, her brow furrowed. She turned her attention to The Duke again, and - ugh, here it came, she'd drag it out into the open and The Duke was still really uncomfortable about it... "Where's Pipsqueak? He isn't..."

"I, um." The Duke glanced at the ground. "He's not dead. At least so far as I know." He looked across the sea, to the massive, rust-colored prison looming in the distance.

"Huh." Bee pushed up to her feet and dusted off her knees. "Go figure..."

"What?"

"Longshot is there, too." Smellerbee crooked her head and smirked. "Fate is pullin' some serious strings to make all this come together."

"It's not just your friends," Hakoda said, stepping up to Smellerbee. "The entire invasion force is there, and with Sozin's Comet just a few days away..."

"We'll need all the help we can get," Smellerbee finished, nodding. "I like the way you think..."

"Hakoda," the Water Tribesman said, offering a hand. "Chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe."

"Smellerbee, leader of the Freedom Fighters." Bee clasped a hand around Hakoda's wrist - when the heck did she learn formalities like that? - and grinned. "Speaking of, Sneers is still waiting for my signal..."

"Sneers?" The Duke pulled a face. "I guess you've been back to the forest, but did you have to bring _that_ jerkbelly along?"

Smellerbee sighed and rubbed her sinuses. "I know, right? It was a necessary evil...hang on, let me birdcall him..."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

After the rounds had been made - Hakoda, the Water Chieftain, Teo, a non-bender from the Northern Air Temple, Haru, an Earthbender, and Chit-Sang, an escaped convict and Firebender - Smellerbee consolidated the entire group just in time for Sneers and the remaining Freedom Fighters to join them on the plateau. The monk wandered over to the group and announced, "So I guess the big fight is off, then?" Smellerbee and The Duke turned their attention to him, to see that he'd crooked his head and smirked, one fist planted on a hip. "Good to see you again, The Duke. I guess."

"Back atcha." The Duke pretended to keep an annoyed face, but Smellerbee could see the joy and excitement in his eyes nonetheless. You started seeing these things when you grew up around somebody who didn't speak.

Sneers cast his gaze around the assembled group. "I recognize...one other face here aside from my own kids. Hakoda, we're well met once more."

Hakoda nodded, eyes the color of icy blades, fine age lines chiseled out of his face. "Sneers. It seems like all sorts of loose ends are being tied up right now."

"You two know each other?" Smellerbee sighed and shook her head, grinning. "Fate, indeed."

"Speaking of, you were pretty quick to jump Mai." Haru glanced over at Pestle, a frown etched onto his tanned face, eyes going narrow. "Some bad blood between you two?"

"Feh." Pestle crossed her arms over her chest and looked out towards the ocean. "She's Fire Nation. That's enough for me."

"That _is_ partially my fault." Smellerbee rubbed the back of her head. "I told Pestle about her."

"We..._met_ in Omashu," Mai explained waving a hand at Haru and glancing in the opposite direction, tucking her opposite arm up. "It's no big deal."

Casting her gaze out, over the ocean, Smellerbee could see Pan Xing Island rising up over the surface of the water, black with an orange hue, glistening against the ocean and sky. It wasn't an island in the usual sense of the word, because it wasn't situated on land. Supported from below with an enormous amount of support pillars - Smellerbee couldn't even begin to count them - it stood several hundred yards off the shore, a blocky and intimidating deathtrap. Guard towers had been posted all along the perimeter walls, razor-sharp spires that clawed at the sky as if out of spite.

Unless you were a Firebender, you were helpless in a place like that. The ocean water was too far away for a Waterbender, and no stone could be seen maintaining the structural integrity, leaving Earthbenders in a tight spot as well. All that left was...well...whatever your preternatural skills were.

Longshot didn't have his bow. He was terrible at hand-to-hand combat, and what little he'd gleaned about knife-fighting from Smellerbee wouldn't do him any good unless he could cobble together a shiv...and then, that wasn't going to do him any good against a hoard of Fire Nation guards.

At least Pipsqueak was there. Pipsqueak could make a grown man cry just by shaking hands. He'd be able to cover Longshot's back.

"Alright," Smellerbee said at last. Silence had fallen over the assembled - Freedom Fighters, they all were, she guessed, even Chit-Sang and (_erf_) Mai - and she only fleetingly wondered why. "We've got to get to the island. Hakoda, you don't happen to be a Waterbender, by chance?"

"It'd be too convenient if I were." Hakoda crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "I don't think that's going to stop you, though. What do you have in mind?"

"I'm...not sure." Smellerbee pursed her lips. "A full-frontal assault would be stupid, but without a Waterbender we don't have much in the way of surprise tactics."

"What I wouldn't give for one of the Mechanist's submarines," The Duke murmured. Smellerbee hiked an eyebrow at him (what the hell was a 'sub-marine?') before shaking her head.

"You have a point, though," Hakoda said. "If we charge straight at them, they'll see us coming and take us down. Even if we build an earth bridge, there won't be any room for us to defend ourselves."

"I think I have an idea."

The swordswoman glanced over to one of The Duke's men, the boy in the wooden chair with wheels, Teo. His eyes sparkled with youth that reminded the Freedom Fighter of...strangely enough, of the Avatar - how, despite their age, they still had a childlike curiosity about them. Smellerbee nodded at him, a silent permission for him to continue.

"So, a bridge is out of the question, right?" Teo reached to the side of his chair and pulled away what looked like a brake mechanism from it. As he spoke, he used the brake stick to draw rough images of his design into the packed dirt they stood on. "You guys might want to take a look at this. Even though the prison itself is far away from the shore, there's a large plateau about thirty feet beneath the ocean's surface running from here to there. The Fire Nation has several installations like this, mostly to keep Earthbenders away from land..."

Haru gave an unsubtle cough. Teo chose to ignore it.

"...but it's common sense that, if you're going to build a huge facility like that, you need solid ground to build it on. This explains why the prisons - Pan Xing Island included - are raised high above the water's surface. The Fire Nation might be technologically advanced, but even _they_ can't defy the laws of physics." Teo grinned. "That said, we might not be able to go over the surface of the water, but there's nothing stopping us from going beneath it. Instead of the bridge, we'll make a tunnel on that that goes beneath the water itself, following that shallow area; With Haru and...um..."

"Pestle," the Earthbender said, curt and blunt - Smellerbee could tell that she was still annoyed about the fight earlier.

"Right, Pestle." Teo gave her a nervous grin and rubbed the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. "Anyway. You two will be up front, and when we get close enough to the prison, you just make a pillar that puts us up over the top of the prison wall."

"That way, water pressure isn't an issue, _and_ we stay hidden!" The Duke snapped his fingers.

"Precisely!"

Smellerbee nodded, a devilish grin splitting her face. She _liked_ Teo, and could see why The Duke had brought him into the fold. He was smart. He had a tactician's mind. He'd thought of something even she, Sneers and Hakoda hadn't, and felt all the more bolstered by having him on the team.

"Fan_tas_tic," she said. Turning to Sneers and Hakoda, she asked, "any objections?

Sneers shook his head, a grin playing across his broad face. "I think it's a solid idea. Let's roll with it."

It had been a little over two weeks since the Overdweller had died, and while he still didn't like having to follow Smellerbee's lead, he'd been remarkably cooperative. Sure, he'd question Smellerbee if she made a tactical decision that he thought was unsound, but Smellerbee at least owed him enough to take his opinion into consideration (he erred on the side of caution, she tended to try to be more straightforward - between the two of them, they found a healthy compromise that kept their group of Freedom Fighters safe). Maybe he went along with it despite his discomfort because arguing it would have been a futile effort.

Or, he could genuinely believe in Smellerbee's cause. She couldn't tell - but he was a lot easier to get along with when he wasn't being completely snarky.

"I agree," Hakoda consented. "The Fire Nation won't see us coming until it's too late."

Drawing a deep breath, Smellerbee glanced around to her and The Duke's assembled Freedom Fighters. "Good. Now here's the breakdown: The Duke, Teo - you're the ones inclined in engineering. Monitor the project and help Pestle and Haru. Do you know where the plateau starts and ends?"

"Yeah, it's not a problem." Teo re-attached his brake and reached over his shoulder, lifting up a rucksack that had been strapped to the back of his chair. "We found some maps that document the geology of the area in one of the Fire Nation buildings we had to raid for supplies."

"Cool. The four of you, get started on that." Smellerbee crossed her arms over her chest. "Tinker, Scribbler, Chameleon: you're our best eyes. Watch the guards patrolling the wall around the prison, try to find blind spots and gaps that we can take advantage of."

"On it," Chameleon said. "I'll take the eastern side."

"I call dibs on the south!" Scribbler called.

"Poo. I wanted south." Tinker pouted, but she couldn't hold it for long as a grin broke out on her face, and Smellerbee couldn't help but grin, too. She'd needed this small dose of levity. "Guess I've got the west, then."

"Hakoda, Chit-Sang - you've been in the Boiling Rock, right?" Smellerbee turned to consider the two men, the oldest of the assembled group. "Prepare a briefing on what we can expect on the inside."

"Hey, Pan Xing ain't no Boiling Rock," Chit-Sang said, his lip twitching. "They could be completely different for all we know. Hell, they probably are."

"Maybe." Smellerbee nodded. "But anything you could tell us that might come in handy could only work in our favor."

It felt...weird, giving orders to people who were probably twenty years older than she was. Particularly Hakoda; Smellerbee might'a only known him for a few minutes, but he'd openly admitted to being the chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe, and he carried around the aura of an experienced soldier, somebody who knew what he was doing. So - why was he letting Smellerbee take point? She'd have to ask him, but if he was willing to let the chain of command fall this way, then it was better to just flow with it. At least, until they had finished with the jail break.

"What about me, Smellerbee?"

The swordswoman glanced up at the speaker; Kuei, the deposed Earth King of Ba Sing Se, held his hand up from near the back of the group, his spectacles shimmering in the sunlight. "I - I want to help, too."

Huh.

"Are you sure?" she asked - though as soon as the words slipped free, she knew that she shouldn't really've been that surprised. Kuei might have been a noble, might have been part of the aristocracy, but over the past week, he'd been operating smoothly with the Freedom Fighters, taking on duties and insisting that he be treated like a member of the team. Giving orders to him had been outright surreal, and she still had a nagging, buzzing sensation at the nape of her neck when solidifying that thought (Smellerbee, a tomboyish orphan raised in the woods, instructing the _Earth King_!).

Kuei nodded, his mouth set into a straight line. "Please."

"Okay." Smellerbee cast her attention to the woods - could see Surestance and Fletcher hidden just behind the first set of trees, the cart of supplies lashed to them. "Kuei, you and the rest of the Freedom Fighters can go work on weapon and armor maintenance. We need to make sure our equipment is in peak form for the upcoming battle. Glisten, Safehaven, you're in charge. Teach Kuei what he needs to know. Alright, people, we have a prison break to instigate! Report back to me when you're ready."

The group split up, the majority returning to the woods to work on the Freedom Fighters' gear - among them Mai, an expression of disinterest on her face, as if the sudden power shift was no big thing. Smellerbee fell into step beside her, but kept her gaze forward - could feel Mai's amber eyes flit to her for a moment before glancing away.

Smellerbee wasn't entirely sure, but seeing her here, now…she possessed much of the same apathetic, gothic attitude the Freedom Fighter remembered from Omashu, but something was different from last time. And it wasn't because of the tattered condition of her robes, or how unkempt her hair had become, barely held together in the buns on each side of her head…it was because she lacked the cold fire she'd had when fighting with Smellerbee on the rooftops of Omashu's business district. Even if they hadn't even locked blades this time, that brief second where they were tensed, poised to go at each other, had spoken a world to the swordswoman.

Once they'd made it past the tree line, Smellerbee pulled off Longshot's hat - felt the breeze combing her hair, felt so good - and finally, that nagging sensation of prolonged symbolism dissipated. She draped the hat over Fletcher's saddlehorn before saying, "Hey, Mai...I gotta admit, I'm kind of surprised seeing you here, of all places."

The knifethrower rolled her yellow eyes and grumbled an apathetic, "Whatever. Do you have a whetstone and some oil?"

Smellerbee's boots scuffed against the gritty dirt, the sound of work-chatter fluttering around them, and reached into the back of the cart. She withdrew a leather pouch and a silver-gray brick about the size of her hand and passed them off to Mai without a word. Finding a set of tree stumps next to each other, they went to work, Smellerbee sharpening Jet's swords and Mai her throwing knives. Smellerbee could still smell the salty tang of seawater, and it would be hell on her hair (as if managing the shaggy mess of split ends wasn't trouble enough), but...this was for Longshot and the world.

Even while sitting down, Mai was taller than Smellerbee - something the Freedom Fighter only realized when this close to her. It was weird. A lot of stuff about today was weird.

A good half minute of silence passed between them before Smellerbee said, "I owe you an apology."

"Mmm." Mai replied, indifferent, distant, a light frown tugging on the corners of her mouth. "You weren't the one to jump me."

"Maybe not, but Pestle's in my care and that makes it my responsibility, and she wouldn't apologize to you anyway. I think we got a lot of equal footing to stand on, and I don't want to screw that up so fast." Smellerbee sighed through her nose and glanced up, away, towards the prison hunkering on the horizon. "The Duke obviously trusts you...otherwise he wouldn't'a kept me from gutting you. And I trust The Duke's ability to judge character - he's always been good at that. So I...I trust you too. I don't know how you got to the same plateau we're all sharing right now, but I'm willin' to bet you got a good reason for it."

At first, Mai didn't respond - the thought flitted through Smellerbee's head that she hadn't reached the knifethrower at all, that the attempt to make up for lost ground had been a waste. Though maybe Mai had heard, had understood, and was putting together the right words, like Longshot would. She probably had, because the next thing she said was, "Ty Lee."

"Huh?"

"Zuko and the Water Tribe kid that the Avatar hangs out with broke into the Boiling Rock in order to free Hakoda," Mai explained, her own voice - hoarse, like Smellerbee, but deeper because of actually, y'know, having hit the puberty line full throttle. "Zuko traded sides, I guess. Azula found out he was there, though - came to do what Azula does best. You know, the whole tortury-mocky thing. But Zuko and the others put together this plan, I guess, they were gonna escape on one of the gondolas heading out of the Boiling Rock's walls..." The knifethrower finally glanced down at the ground and shook her head, her yellow eyes half-vanishing beneath her eyelids. "Azula and Ty Lee caught up to them. I got there late - and my Uncle, he runs the prison, he was going to cut the lines and drop everyone into the boiling water surrounding the prison itself. Azula. Zuko. _Everyone_. I...I stopped them. I betrayed Azula by saving Zuko. And you know what?" Mai shook her head and sighed. "It was worth it."

Smellerbee chuckled, a grin twisting onto his face. "You and Zuko really aren't that different, are you?"

"Hmph." From her periphery vision, Smellerbee saw Mai's mouth curl upwards, but only just the slightest bit. "I guess not."

"So, what happened after that?"

Mai drew a low breath. "Azula wasn't very happy with me, but before it got out of hand, Ty Lee intervened, used her chi-blocking techniques to paralyze her before anything could happen. I got locked up at the Boiling Rock, while Ty Lee was hauled off to Pan Xing. I'm here to bail her out."

Smellerbee closed her eyes and grinned. "Our goals were the same in the end."

"The archer?"

"Yeah. We got trampled by the Rough Rhinos a few weeks ago and they took Longshot prisoner. We got word from our intel net that they'd thrown him in this place." Smellerbee opened her eyes again and felt her chest tighten, her lungs tingle. Even though the other Freedom Fighters chatted and worked nearby, the noise was distant, a backdrop. The whispering of the tree's leaves as a sea breeze blew through them, the sharp tang of oiled metal, the high-pitched ring of sharpening stone running across metal...those were close, they made a bizarre atmosphere for this conversation. "Once we found out the Day of Black Sun invasion force was locked up here too, we made this jailbreak our priority. We would have come for Longshot regardless, but this is...insurance. In case Aang can't beat Fire Lord Ozai."

"That's the way your Freedom Fighters work, huh?" Mai asked, at last turning to face Smellerbee. The swordswoman did the same, standing face-to-face with her new ally, flexing her fingers. She felt her mouth quirking, and she succumbed to that familiar renegade smirk. And - she knew, when that smirk came on its own accord, she was doing the Right Thing as leader.

"_'Watch out for each other because nobody else will.'_" Tilting her head to the side, Smellerbee added, "And that includes you, Freedom Fighter."

Mai nodded, smiling.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_11 days until Sozin's Comet_

The air felt different today, and Longshot couldn't quite place how.

It - it smelled the same, the scent of oil and metal and singed ozone and the toe-curling stench of body odor, from the less cleanly inmates.

There was nothing new to hear - prisoners milling about, chatting amongst themselves, the most brazen enough to cover the low murmur of whispers cast by the other. Even Pipsqueak had managed to keep his voice down to a manageable murmur.

Maybe it was something in the sky, but...no, nothing there, either, just blue, not even a single cloud to be seen. And, well, it tasted almost the same way it smelled, though he was glad the lack of bathing habits of his peers wasn't so bad as to reach his taste buds. And really, the place felt as grimy as it did every other day, grubby and metal and cold and unfeeling.

Still, something wasn't quite right. Some imperceptible difference, some vague footnote that eluded him solely because his senses were not honed enough for him to pick it up. (That was a hell of an irony.) But there was definitely some sort of tension building up. He could feel _that_, building and clattering ungainly through the prison's courtyard.

Longshot knew he wasn't alone, because the way the others were reacting, they could sense it, too. The way Pipsqueak's cheerful demeanor had given way to a sobered, leery glower that looked left, right and left again, constantly changing. The way Spatula sat cross-legged on the floor with his shoulders hunched up and his head ducked. The way Ty Lee kept glancing up to the sky with worry etched onto her face, the way that The Boulder kept rotating his left shoulder, that Huu had closed in on himself, eyes shut and mouth curled into a frown. The way that Bato had poised himself, head crooked, trying to identify that same peccadillo. Everyone had their own signs.

Sozin's Comet would pass through the planet's atmosphere not too long from now. Longshot knew they had to escape, and soon, if they wanted to make some sort of difference in this war. If they wanted to have a chance at extinguishing the Fire Nation's plans for destroying the world.

The sensation was so thick that he could slice through it with one of Smellerbee's daggers, if he had one in hand. (_Remember, Longshot, it's all about the weight of the blade to the hilt, balanced with sand inside the grip._) But he had a fitting substitute waiting for him in the kitchen. Sure, _those_ knives were barely meant for combat, but they were sharp and they'd still cut, even though he planned on throwing them more than using them in a melee fight.

Spatula had been fantastic on this front; he was friends with the rest of the kitchen staff, and they'd conspired with him to secret forks and knives away in a corner of the kitchen itself. From there, he would lead Longshot and Pipsqueak up to the wall surrounding the courtyard, where the three would tear-ass through the guards, meeting up with Ty Lee and the Kyoshi Warriors.

Every member of the invasion force had been brought into the fold on this, united thanks to Bato's ample leadership skill. They knew it would happen sometime during rec, but they hadn't had a specific day set for it - for the right opportunity to fall into their lap. They couldn't keep waiting, though. They were running out of time. He didn't like it, but time had not been their ally from the outset, ever since he escaped Lake Laogai with Smellerbee...

...wait...

Longshot cocked his head to the side, and Pipsqueak instantly brought his gaze to rest on the archer. Of this entire lot, the pair had known each other longest, so of course it'd be Pipsqueak that recognized when his fellow Freedom Fighter was on to something.

"What is it, Longshot?" the giant muttered, hunkering down and frowning. This drew the attention of Spatula, Ty Lee, Bato and the others, who looked from Pipsqueak to Longshot in befuddlement. "What do you hear?"

...not sure yet, but...Longshot's eyes narrowed. After all, being an archer meant having acute hearing, relying on _all_ senses in order to be the best shot you could be. It sounded...grindy, churny, screechy - like metal being wrenched apart just below them by...by...

And Longshot felt his eyes wide and his jaw go slack.

Reinforcements. Somebody was burrowing in from underneath, and coming to free them. Oh Spirits, Pipsqueak, it's time, that's what the weird feeling in the air is, they had to mobilize their efforts _now!_

Pipsqueak jerked backwards, grabbed his chest - stunned - before hunching forward and grinning a broad, vicious grin, his eyes going narrow. A klaxon wailed - an emergency alarm, and the inmates were supposed to - supposed to be shuttled back into the prison, but this was there _chance_ and Pipsqueak relayed the news to Bato, who would be Longshot's voice.

Message in hand, Bato set his jaw and pushed up to his feet, ice-blue eyes glistening. "ALRIGHT, PEOPLE!" The Water Tribesman yelled, standing up at full height and throwing a fist up into the air. "THIS IS THE MOMENT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! SOMEBODY OUT THERE HAS COME TO HELP US. IT'S TIME FOR US TO SET OURSELVES FREE!"

And - and the cheer, the thunder that hurled itself up into the sky to follow, it was massive, engulfing the archer, so silent as to almost be mute, rocking him. They - they were cheering for his plan, _Longshot's_ plan, and he wasn't even the leader! The other inmates not privy to the information roared their support as well, and that'd be perfect, they would help too, even if it was just to cause chaos for the guards.

Longshot turned to Ty Lee, then to Huu, and nodded; clapping Pipsqueak on the shoulder, the archer turned and led his old friend and Spatula back, towards the belly of the prison, towards the nook in the kitchen where they'd been secreting away utensils. Already, they risked being swallowed up by the throngs of inmates that had began to churn and rumble and stand tall against those guards that had already been dispersed throughout the courtyard, and those that would be pouring out from inside once they realized they had a riot on their hands.

Lungs burning, muscles aching, the three reached the far wall of the courtyard, and Spatula lunged forward, wrenching open the gate that lead inside, the metal squealing in vehement protest. Just beyond lay the dark, ominous corridors of the prison's insides; Longshot knew the way to the kitchen from here well enough, but he would need Pipsqueak and Spatula's muscle if he wanted to get in and out in one piece. He glanced at both of them, and they returned his gaze (as fleeting as it was), and all three surged inside, into the cool, dimly-lit corridors, Longshot taking point.


	2. Chapter 2, Part 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle**

**Chapter 2, Part 1: In the face of reason, I can take no more**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_11 days until Sozin's Comet_

As Smellerbee led her and The Duke's assembled Freedom Fighters down the dark, stuffy, underwater tunnel Pestle and Haru had bent, riding Surestance as he loped along the tunnel's length, she felt her pulse pounding, her mouth pulling into that familiar, wicked grin of a warrior about to submerge herself into her element. Wait, no - submerge wasn't the right word. More like, she would let the raging, burning blood pumping through her veins swallow her up, diving headfirst into the maw, engulfed, drowning in the ocean, only she'd be in _control_, and she wouldn't really be drowning because - because she could live in that rage.

After all - this was for Longshot. It had been too long and be damned if they spent any more time separated from each other. Not even the Fire Lord himself could stand in her way.

Perched behind Smellerbee, Mai had her hands on the swordswoman's shoulders, lithe, long-nailed fingers squeezing her collar bone. "I have to admit, this is a pretty daring rescue plan. Certainly an interesting one."

"When The Duke gets his Tactician on, you can tell things are gonna be hopping." Smellerbee chuckled. "Promise you won't lose interest partway through?"

"I make no guarantees," and even though Smellerbee couldn't see her, she knew Mai was giving a faint grin.

Though it was gloomy in here, and despite it being subterranean like this, packed in closely with the other Freedom Fighters following her, The Duke had set up torches at select intervals, casting flickering, orange light across the dim stone. As she neared the end, she spotted Pestle and Haru, both Earthbenders becoming gradually larger and clearer; they'd stopped just short of the perimeter of the prison, and Smellerbee swore the outer wall would be so close now that she could have reached out and grazed it with her fingertips.

Perfect.

"Are you ready?" Smellerbee asked, pulling to a stop just shy of the two Earthbenders.

"Oh, you don't even know," Pestle replied, a vicious grin slicing her face. If Smellerbee wasn't on the cusp of battle mode herself, she might have found Pestle's reaction disconcerting, but if it meant the young Earthbender would fight that much harder...

"Just a brief breakdown, then." Smellerbee smirked. "Bust into the prison courtyard with a stone tunnel. As soon as everybody is clear, Pestle and Haru will bend two platforms and launch me and Mai on Surestance, and The Duke and Sneers on Fletcher, up to the perimeter wall, where we can distract and take down the guards so they lose the advantage of the high ground. The rest of you, take it to the guards in the courtyard, help however you can."

"You guys remember the angle you guys need to bend at, right?" The Duke said from his perch on Fletcher, just behind Sneers. The young Freedom Fighter had one hand clasped onto the monk's waist, the other keeping his helmet firmly in place. "We _have_ to get in the courtyard."

"It's easy enough for you to say. You don't have to punch a spire of rock through who knows how many metal walls that are who knows how thick." Haru snorted and shook his head.

(Smellerbee was starting to understand why the young man grinded Pestle and The Duke so much.)

"Quit bein' such a girl," Pestle shot, her grin widening. "If it takes more than one push, it takes more than one push. It's good exercise." She crouched down and drew both her arms out to the left; Haru grumbled but eventually followed suit, and together, the pair thrust their arms up - out - and the earth around Smellerbee and the Freedom Fighters rumbled, dirt and pebbles raining down on them. The earth itself was wrenched open overhead, torn, manipulated - the ground quaked and rumbled, and just beyond the stone walls came the sound of metal squealing, screeching in stark protest, split open by stone. Pestle grunted, and she and Haru redistributed their weight, steadying their stances; they pulled their arms back and thrust forward again, the metal squealing once more - and again, and again, until finally there wasn't any resistance, and the screeching of metal no longer pierced the tunnel.

"We're through!" Pestle called; Smellerbee glanced up, saw that the tunnel had been extended at an upward angle, a broad, tall arch whose half-circle mouth reflected in sunlight, the sounds of battle ricochetting down into their safehaven. Armor clattering as guards ran, men and women shouting or screaming, metal clashing against metal, digging into skin - low, wet noises that Smellerbee was so familiar with that she could pick them out even from in here.

Drawing one of Jet's swords from its harness, Smellerbee whipped the blade around and thrust it at the head of the tunnel. This was here, this was now, her pulse sped up all over again, and, thunder coursing through her veins - "Freedom Fighters - attack!"

Grasping Surestance's reins with her other hand, she tugged back on them, the ostrich horse yowling a war cry to match Smellerbee's before charging up the tunnel - and then, a jolt as Surestance leapt free, out, sunlight washing over her, fresh air once again, cold and starched, smelled like chemicals and grease and metal - momentum never stopping, never breaking, moving so fast, so _fast!_ The wind tore her cheeks and jaw, and she scanned the raging battlefield.

Pestle and Haru had made the tunnel erupt close to one of the court's walls, which were as rusty-orange on the inside as they were on the outside. The floor was made of the same colored stuff, metal plates riveted into place, very rigid, very 'Fire Nation.' The tunnel's mouth ended about ten feet above the floor, and all around - inmates, riled, wearing identical orange, ratty tunics, men and women, burly and petite, going toe-to-toe with the guards. The guards themselves wore streamlined, scalloped armor, with facemasks that only covered the eyes - Smellerbee had never seen them before, so they must have been unique to Pan Xing.

The sky was brilliant blue, the wind raked its hands through her hair, making her eyes blur - this was beautiful, this was perfect, Surestance landed hard, the impact jarring Smellerbee -

A wave of fire from above and to the left! Smellerbee crouched down, felt Mai press against her back, the heat blistering just barely overhead. A guard on the wall surrounding the prison had noticed them!

"Got it!" Smellerbee felt Mai whip out one arm, saw, from the corner of her eye, three glistening flechettes pierce the armor of the offending Firebender, a guard. He writhed, fell forward, tumbled - landed fifty yards later in a broken heap.

Smellerbee whipped her head around. "Pestle! Haru!"

"Present and accounted for." Pestle grunted, landing in a crouch beside Surestance. Haru was already poised next to Fletcher, ready to go.

Pestle glanced back at the tunnel she and Haru had made - vacant, the Freedom Fighters must have all spilled out behind Smellerbee and Mai - and said, "Let's do this." She and Haru slammed a foot into the ground, shattering the part of the tunnel sticking out over the floor, and with an inward sweep of the arms, they brought all the pieces together into a pair of flat, rectangular platforms. They flung it to the nearest wall, slamming against the metal floor with a tremendous bang.

The ostrich horses stepped onto the platforms, and Smellerbee glanced down at Pestle. The girl had her mouth set into a straight line and was doing her best to not look at Mai; in that instant, the swordswoman knew the thoughts that were running through Pestle's mind. Here she was, helping the enemy despite her best judgment, even though it was for the greater good.

Smellerbee was too familiar with that feeling. She'd felt the same way in that dusty town so many years ago, with the terrible chicken and Spatula.

"I'll be counting on you to hold the fort down here," Smellerbee said, grinning nonetheless; Pestle blinked, shaken from her thoughts, and allowed a wicked smile to cross her face.

"Alright then, let's go: next stop on the Pestle Express, straight up!" Pestle stomped on the ground and thrust both arms upward, and before Smellerbee knew it, the wind tore at her again as the stone platform rushed towards the exterior prison walls.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

To the left!

"Y-yeah!" Spatula furrowed his brow and juked out in front of Longshot, delivering a sharp uppercut into the jaw of an incoming guard, sending him sprawling. Pipsqueak picked up the man - a ragdoll, it was kind of funny seeing that - and hurled him at another squad heading their way, knocking them over.

The kitchen was just past the guards that Pipsqueak had knocked over. Longshot leaped over the collapsed men and women first; Pipsqueak was next, and Spatula swore he saw one of the still conscious guards flinch, and - urgh - jump! Tuck in the legs! He hadn't spent a whole lot of time in Hong Ye, and he certainly wasn't Longshot, but he'd picked up a thing or two, and it was just - weird being this acrobatic, for having a _need_ to do it. But he did - jumped, cleared the jumbled guards, landed, stumbled, continued running, the orange, metal corridors rushing past on all sides, so busy, so crazy, so fast!

Spatula had made this journey so many times, from kitchen to courtyard and back again, but never like this, never with his pulse pounding this hard, his muscles so tense and sore, his breath so raw, the wind raking through his hair. Pipsqueak and Longshot - they were familiar with the path too, and, at first Spatula hadn't even been sure why they wanted him along in the first place. He was a coward! Afraid to fight, afraid to get hurt, but...

His mind flitted back to that day, when Pipsqueak had come to Pan Xing. How, in the heat of that small rebellion, Spatula had realized that, yes, there _are_ things worth putting your life on the line for. Freedom. Love. An older brother who wanted him to escape, a younger brother he'd never had the chance to meet, and never would if he gave up and let himself rot in here.

For the longest time, Spatula had believed that. That he wouldn't get out, anyway, that escape was futile. If it hadn't been for Longshot's tenacity and spirit, Spatula'd probably be here til he was old and gray.

Yes. Little Dimei Zhen, the brother Spatula didn't know personally. This would make an interesting story to tell him, this break-out.

That thought pulled the Firebender together with renewed fervor; yes, that was it, that was perfect, it was _now_. The familiar scents of the prison kitchen perked his attention: bland, papery mashed potatoes, the ripe smell of garbage that _should_ have been taken out a day prior (Spatula would have Lajiren's head on a platter for neglecting his duties _again_), of metal and soap, nothing like a proper kitchen ought to have smelled like. Nonetheless, it was here that Longshot had designated as the hiding place for his weapons.

Spatula took the lead, cutting ahead of the other two, into the kitchen proper: just as rust-orange as everything else in the prison, there were counters lining three of the walls, housing stoves, ovens, and cabinets (no ice boxes, though; everything here was powdered or packaged, even the milk). Two tables had been pushed back-to-back in the middle of the room, creating an island, from which pots, pans, and cooking utensils hung. Scattered around the room, waiting, was this shift's staff, men and women, old and young, some portly and warty, some not so much, all in on the plan, all having secreted away what utensils they could.

"We're ready to go," Spatula said, breath short, throat raw. "You heard the klaxon, right?"

"Yeah," Lajiren said from the other side of the kitchen, perched on a counter on his ass like he didn't have a care in the world. Wiry, in his thirties, with a dead mole rat draped over his lips instead of a proper mustache, Lajiren was Spatula's "problem child" in the kitchen, but - well - if this worked, then there wouldn't be any need to deal with the slacker ever again. (Spatula took this additional virtue and tucked it away behind his ear.) "We've got everything ready."

"Here," a portly woman said from near Lajiren; she reached beneath one of the counters and withdrew a small, stained, off-white sack bulging with the weight of forks and knives, ready to be used as ammunition. She passed the sack over to Longshot and winked at him. "Seventy-five pieces. It's all we could get without drawing too much attention to ourselves."

It'll be more than enough. Longshot nodded in appreciation and reached into the sack, withdrawing from it a fork, dull in color, but the tines sharpened over the past few days to a razor's point. They were all like that, the knives too, and they'd -

"We got bogeys!" Pipsqueak called; Spatula glanced over his shoulder, saw the giant had taken up a position at the kitchen's door. "Five guards, heading this way. I'm goin' in!"

"Heh, here we go." Spatula threw a quick salute to his - friends? Well, Spatula had never been all that close to the rest of the kitchen staff, but they'd come through when they hadn't needed to, and that counted for something, right? "Catch you guys on the other side. Good luck."

Spatula and Longshot whirled, the latter hoisting the sack over one shoulder and beaming at the former. The Firebender really _did_ grow a spine in the kitchen. He wouldn't get all weak-willed once they'd left, would he?

"I make no guarantees," Spatula replied, a nervous grin flitting across his face.

Fair enough. Longshot sprinted after Pipsqueak, now properly armed, and Spatula fell into step behind him.

By the time they emerged into the corridor, they found Pipsqueak holding off three of the five guards, the other two collapsed in a heap nearby; he pushed one back with a heavy grunt, but - his face was red and coated with sweat. The bigger Freedom Fighter was struggling, and - he'd been going unarmed, this entire time! Spatula shook his head at the revelation, and - yes! One of the guards had dropped a club, a heavy, black-and-red thing with a flanged end (so more of a mace than a club). Spatula scooped it up in one hand - called Pipsqueak's name - the behemoth threw one of the guards down - Longshot hurled his fork at another - Spatula, pulse pounding hard in his chest, his throat, behind his ears, lunged and socked the last of the three with a sharp right hook - down! The Firebender tossed the mace to Pipsqueak and beamed.

"I got that just for you." Spatula laughed. "I don't think it's quite your colors, but..."

Pipsqueak grinned. "Thanks, Spatch." His grin faded, though, and his brow knit. "So, now..." He cast a pensive glance back the way they'd come, and Spatula felt his chest tighten.

Longshot and Spatula were good on their own. The archer walked over to Pipsqueak and placed a hand on the giant's arm. Spatula could out-muscle most of the guards, and Longshot was more agile, so they'd be able to take care of anything that ran their way. It was important that Pipsqueak head back to the courtyard and take out what guards he could there.

"But - "

It's all part of the plan. The corner of Longshot's eyes wrinkled, giving that phantasmal grin of his. The half-baked plan made by an archer without the stuff to be a leader, but the plan nonetheless.

Pipsqueak looked ready to protest again - glanced down the hall again - and sighed, a light grin playing across his face. "Fair enough. Take care, you guys." He turned, shouldered his new club, and ran back the way the trio had come from, leaving Longshot and Spatula alone.

"So - to the roof, then?"

To the roof.

The renegade Fire Nation man flashed a nervous grin, and charged down the hallway opposite of the one Pipsqueak had gone down.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The Duke clutched a cylindrical, brown tube in one hand as Sneers steered the ostrich horse - Fletcher, that's what Smellerbee said her name was - between the mosh pit of guards wearing crimson, black and maroon armor. Fletcher's massive, scaled feet thundered against the metal, talons clicking away like the chittering of a massive earwig, each loping, galloped step threatening to throw The Duke from the saddle. From behind, shouting - dulled by Fletcher's movements and the miniature-scale war in the courtyard below them - and then, then, a bolt of flame hurdling past Sneers' head, so close that The Duke could feel heat blistering his skin. Sneers cursed and leaned forward, making himself a smaller target.

"Come on, you idiot! Do something about the guys on our asses!" He called. Fletcher plowed through the backs of two unsuspecting guards, sending each one careening over opposite sides of the wall - one into the ocean.

"I'm _trying_ but I can't hold the bomb and light the fuse at the same time!" The Duke yelled back, hackles rising. Spirits, Sneers was just too demanding sometimes - all he was contributing to this abominate rally of insanity and violence was driving around an ostrich horse! Scowling - and he _really_ would prefer not to do this - The Duke opened his mouth and stuck the butt end of the bomb inside, clamping his teeth around it. The dry, dusty taste of paper swilled over his tongue, and he tried not to think about it - crept him out, made his teeth...itch. Okay, didn't really _itch_, but he couldn't put a proper name to the sensation. It made him all squicky. Pinching his knees around Fletcher's saddle, The Duke drew his spark rocks from a pouch on his belt; he held them out in front of his face, closed one eye. This was, undoubtedly, the _dumbest_ thing he'd ever done. He flinched and snapped the two stones against each other.

The green, crystalline shards flickered, sparks shooting off from the friction; the fuse on his bomb didn't catch at first, but after two or three tries, it began to hiss and flare with bright, phosphorous light. Okay, that was good that was good that was good _THROW THE BOMB_ and he pulled it out of his mouth and threw it backwards, into the swirling throng of guards chasing after them. It took a few seconds - terrifying, pants-wetting seconds where arrows and fireballs still threatened the general vicinity where the Freedom Fighters and the borrowed steed had only split-seconds before been occupying - but the resounding explosion felt so, so _satisfying_, so relieving, the wave of heat washing over him from behind. That was great, that meant it worked, that meant -

"Crap!"

So caught up in himself, The Duke really _did_ fall out of the saddle when Fletcher skittered to a sudden halt; The Duke hit the ground hard, the impact clattering up through his shoulders and back - rolled, had to get away from Fletcher's talons, holy poop, how close - the edge! Where was - disoriented, where was the edge, he threw his hands out, caught himself. The ostrich horse squealed in sharp protest, and from ahead, more guards surged forward with - clubs, swords, maces, and Firebenders with their knuckles alight with sparks and tendrils of golden orange -

"Get back on!" Sneers yelped, his voice cracking as he turned Fletcher around again - but through the smoke of The Duke's bomb blast, more troops pushed forward over the corpses of their comrades, causing the monk to drop another foul curse.

"Well," The Duke said, "this isn't any good."

"No," Sneers said. "No, this isn't."

The Duke pressed his shoulderblades into Fletcher's flank, throat raw and tight, each breath full of the musk of an ostrich horse, of blood, of singed ozone and burning flesh, drowning out the ocean breeze that had been so dominant on the shore. The guards had them penned in!

"I think," The Duke said, "It's time for us to play to our strengths."

"You're thinking down?" Sneers asked, voice terse.

"I'm thinking down." The Duke snaked one hand into a pouch at his hip, felt around for - there! Three round stones, each a little larger than a marble.

"I won't be able to cover you. Will you be okay?"

The Duke allowed himself a laugh, hoping that it didn't quake - no need to get Sneers all worried, that'd ruin the plan before the younger Freedom Fighter could even execute it. "I'm too tenacious to go down like this."

"Then at the battle's end," Sneers said; The Duke stole a glance up at the monk, who gave a sage nod. "Fletcher, forward! YAH!"

The Duke whipped his hand out and threw down the stones; they popped, exploded, hissed, releasing thick clouds of smoke. He scrambled up to his feet and unsheathed his pike in one graceless motion (it was a big weapon for his size, shut up) and leapt over the lip of the wall bordering the courtyard.

For a moment, time did not move. Beneath him, the sprawling metal surface of the courtyard with no, no _tree branches_ to catch him, for him to latch onto, to make a safe landing. But most of the floor was covered by squirming, wriggling dull orange shapes - the same prison uniforms Hakoda and Chit-Sang wore, meshed in with the maroon and black uniforms of the Fire Nation guards, so numerous yet so dispensable. The air was harsh against his face, his bare hands, his clothes tightening against the front of his body, and his vision blurred as tears began to flood them. His heart pulsed so fast that he swore it would leap out of his throat, the thrill, the exhilaration, it was almost like making those death-defying leaps back in Hong Ye, learning how to fight, to stand up for himself even if he didn't have Smellerbee or Pipsqueak's help and -

- and -

- a huge form, wielding a Fire Nation club, battering guards away from another man in a prison uniform, with darker skin and -

It was _him!_ It was, it was _him_, it was Pipsqueak, he was there and he was okay and he was doing what he did best he was protecting his friends and kicking butt! Time restored its proper functions and The Duke thrust the blade of his pike into the metal wall; it bit in, and momentum and gravity did the rest, sending out a shower of sparks that flickered and bounced off his hands. Clutching the pike tightly in both hands, he dangled from it, no support, no protection, just him, just himself, but soon he wouldn't be alone, soon he'd, he'd -

The ground rushed up to him, and he embraced it, ripping his pike from the metal and free-falling the rest of the way, landing in a rolling crouch. The Duke sprung back up to his feet and rushed through the throng of warriors, ducking and juking and weaving and ignoring his surroundings, everyone else was inconsequential, just a sea of violence and insanity wrought on by the Fire Nation and and and there he _was_, him and The Boulder, battleing off a hoard of guards, throwing them around like rag dolls, and Pipsqueak laughed that massive, booming laugh of his, and it shook The Duke's belly even from here!

But - Pipsqueak - he didn't see the guard rising up from a prone position from behind, a sword clutched in his armored hand - The Duke saw him scowling, a vengeful sneer that would - he'd kill, he'd kill Pipsqueak and neither he nor the Boulder would notice and The Duke wasn't close enough -

- hand down, fingers clutching something round and hard and small before he even realized it - and with a grunt that bordered on a scream - threw them, only a slight arc, all his power - exploding seeds, an uncountable cluster of them, impacted on the guard's face, the exposed part, bursting all at once with a crackling sound like a tree collapsing on a much smaller scale. And Pipsqueak whirled around, saw the guard fall - and then glanced over, saw - saw -

Their eyes met and The Duke's vision blurred again, but this time it had nothing to do with the wind. His cheeks tingled, and the smile that grew across them could not possibly be contained.


	3. Chapter 2, Part 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 2, Part 2: One by one they've all become a number as they fall**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Piss!"

Spatula ducked down, avoiding a hard left hook aimed at his head - felt the backdraft wash over his face - reacted, instinctual, grabbed the guard's wrist in one hand, driving the other into his upper arm. He felt more than heard the guard's shoulder pop from its socket (had to, had to remember that move) and shoved him aside, careening into two of his peers, all three sprawling into a heap.

He and Longshot - they'd fought their way up to the wall, made it through the prison's innards, through the claustrophobic corridors, mostly unopposed, but not completely. There had been close calls - but nothing they hadn't conquered, mostly unharmed, though one of the guards had nicked Spatula's shoulder with their swords. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle. The rust-colored halls had opened around them, replaced by blue skies, a sea breeze washing past - refreshing, _sooo_ refreshing, it combed Spatula's hair, caressed his cheek, and after hauling ass inside the prison itself - working up a sweat, entire body hot and sticky, it rejuvenated him, put the wind back in his sails. If things had stayed inside, he would have hit the wall much faster, would have been exhausted because there wasn't anywhere for the heat to escape.

It wasn't a problem anymore.

Well, sure, the guards up here - they'd been surprised to see two more prisoners burst through the nearby door, but they were quick to get their shit together. The Kyoshi Warriors were already up here, and though the guards were spread thin trying to take them down, their were still enough to keep this from being - you know - easy.

A mace!

Only barely saw it from out of the corner of his eyes - bigheavyblackshimmering, off to the right - Spatula dropped down to the floor and rolled, the metal sun-baked and smooth against his arm. The weapon's head crashed into the floor, and the Firebender felt the impact shudder up his shoulder; he reached out - grabbed the handle of the weapon - used it and the floor as leverage - mule kicked, planting a foot in the guard's chest - he stumbled backwards - against the wall's edge - Spatula jabbed the butt end of the mace into his chest, then his chin, another one down.

He was getting pretty used to this whole - you know - _fighting_ thing.

The mace itself - only had a split second to reflect on it - high-quality, a flanged head, edges glistening under the sun - sharp and deadly. Not Spatula's thing, really, but - it was kinda cool - would make a neat war trophy -

Another guard! Knuckles aglow with fire, crackling, red, dangerous - Spatula caught the blow with his free hand, the guard's fire splashing across the Freedom Fighter's knuckles, up his arm - Spatula's eyes went wide and he took a sharp breath, slurping the fire away, inside him - hadn't prepared - coughed - choked - belched the fire back out, such a graceless, embarrassing way to save his own ass, but - washed back out, over the guard this time, causing her to stumble backwards in shock. Spatula, still hacking, hurled a solid punch into the guard's gut - tried to apologize, something about hitting a girl (even for the sake of his freedom) unnerved him. She crumbled, and -

- dammit, the mace was gone. Ah, well -

Spatula!

The Fire Nation man whirled - saw Longshot, hurling knife after knife, fork after fork, so fast, so precise, just a flick of the wrist - taking down one, two, three guards, but - they'd realized, they knew Longshot was the second-most important person in this riot after Bato, and - maybe - they focused on _Longshot_ because if they could quash this thing, they'd be less able to do it again, and - they had surrounded him, they were closing in, mostly ignoring Spatula -

Longshot's eyes had gone wide, he had grit his teeth, lips peeled back into a desperate snarl. He stepped back - Spatula could see him, usually so calm and composed, but he was backed into a corner, knew he was in trouble -

The Firebender jumped, landed on the back of one of the guards, knocked him over - leapt up, socked another - but - they were clustered too heavily, where the hell had all these guys come from? One of them got in close enough to Longshot to deck him, a solid blow across the cheek, split him open, a red smear splashed just beneath his eye - he dropped his satchel of utensils, it clattered to the floor, the contents spilling out in a cascade of shimmering, pointy metal. The archer took another blow to the stomach, sending him reeling - Spatula tried, tried so _hard_, to peel the guards back, but - they struggled, they acknowledged him enough to keep him at bay, to swarm him, separate him - and then - Longshot, slumped over, out cold? Maybe - they grabbed him - hefted him up - they were going to dump him over - !

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Mai charged along the wall, juking and leaping as the remaining guards made to attack her. Dispatched them, took them down, they wouldn't keep her from settling her debt, from saving her friend, Ty Lee's eyes flashing in her mind, sparkling orbs always alight with joy and curiosity. Things Mai lacked, but - well, maybe that's why they complemented each other so well. Even the less important things - Ty Lee's affectionate nature to Mai's aloofness, their fighting styles, and - hell, their wardrobes. Pinks versus maroons? Well, there you go.

(Once Mai and Smellerbee had reached the top of the wall, they'd parted ways; there was no tactical sense in the two of them sticking together. That was fine; meeting up with Ty Lee in front of Smellerbee could have been...embarrassing.)

A guard with a pike thrust the weapon forward; Mai dropped down to the ground and slid between the man's legs on her back, the metal giving enough glide for her to clear past him; she thrust an elbow into his knee, heard a sickening pop, and rolled back onto her feet before he landed on the ground. Robes flowing, she charged forward again, hurling shuriken as she came across her enemies, her muscles burning, her hair whipping around her face in rattails, and -

Huge, green, a hulking monster made of seaweed, it, it surged up over the edge of the wall from the ocean, shambling, slopping against the metal surface without any feet. Two arms, like tree trunk-thick whips, dangled down from the center of its body; it stood, Spirits, at least twenty feet tall, and just as wide from "shoulder to shoulder" if you could consider such a thing as to have proper anatomy. Aside from the arms, it was really just a shambling pile of seaweed, soggy and shining in the sun and, and it lashed one arm, catching a wave of guards and sending them tumbling far into the ocean below. Mai stopped just short of the monster as droplets of water pelted her face and robes; it surged on along the path of the wall, the tail ends of the seaweed like tendrils or tentacles pulling it along, vanishing beneath the monster as more took its place.

If it saw Mai, it didn't show - and the knifethrower wasn't sure to be relieved or panicked by that. The tightness in her chest, the way her ears burned...confusing, even in battle, even -

Wait.

Feeling her jaw go slack, Mai raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Was - was it a Spirit, materializing itself into this world? She'd heard rumors of it happening, but only in bits and pieces, information passed down through the filters of propaganda and general Fire Nation ignorance. If it had, was it going to fight for the inmates, or was it just going to cause random chaos...? She hunkered down anyway just in case, because she was in trouble regardless of what happened. She still wore the black and maroon robes of a Fire Nation noble (_filthy as they may be_) and if the Spirit attacked indiscriminately, then it didn't matter what her intentions were, did it...? So best to keep a low profile, because Ty Lee could be this way, and the Spirit would be good for clearing the path ahead -

"YAAH!"

Mai whirled, eyes wide - the guard with the pike, the one who shouldn't even be standing, had managed to hobble close enough to her to attack, and -

Green whips lashed around her, on either side, wrapping around the guard and hurling him over the edge, joining his companions into the ocean. His pike clattered against the floor, and - and Mai lunged for it without thinking, whirling around and brining the weapon up, aiming it at the Spirit and oh man what the hell was she _thinking_ taking a weapon to the beast, and it glared down at her even though it didn't have eyes, it didn't have _eyes_ and Mai could feel its gaze burning into her own as it loomed higher and higher, arms raised up, poised to attack. Mai backed up, turned on a dime and began to run, eyes wide, chest heaving, a strange trembling sensation working up through her back and stomach and oh crap oh crap oh crap why aren't her legs carrying her faster and wet and slick and wrapping around her biceps and thighs and torso and she couldn't move anymore, it drew her in, turned her around, drawing her close to its body, more of the seaweed seeping out towards her, why wasn't it throwing her over like it had with the other guards, why -

- no time to think -

- just act -

- do something! -

Bringing the pike up to bear again, realizing she still clutched it in one hand, she tried to slice through the seaweed seeping towards her, but the tentacles of the stuff engulfed the serrated, bladed tip, yanked it from her grasp, and flung it away just as it had the guards, and Mai knew she was next, she _knew _it, and even if she survived the fall she had no way back into the prison and she couldn't let Ty Lee down like that and -

"_Mai!_ Huu, stop! Put her down!"

And - and there, sticking her head around the clumps of seaweed (_"Clumps! They're clumps!" _And she'd hugged Mai, so awkward), was - that round face, the eyes to match, sparkling with joy and curiosity, and okay her hair was more frazzled than Mai's and she wore the same unflattering dull orange uniform Hakoda and Chit-Siang had to endure, but -

"Ty Lee!" And the tingling sensation in her cheeks - her vision skewing - so foreign, she grinned, on the verge of crying, because she was _okay_. The seaweed monster gently lowered Mai to the ground, its tendrils withdrawing from her body when she'd found solid footing, and it shuffled to the side enough for Ty Lee to walk over the inner lip of the wall and run over to Mai. Then, so warm, and Mai stumbled backwards, Ty Lee's hair tickling her ear, and and another foreign sensation, bubbling up from her abdomen - laughter, hers and Ty Lee's mingling together. She felt Ty Lee shaking as Mai wrapped her arms around her friend, and - something wet leaked from her eyes, rolled down her cheeks, landing on Ty Lee's shoulder.

"You jerk," Mai whispered, patting Ty Lee's back gently. Her voice betrayed her, quavering. "You're such a cornball. You made me cry."

"You made me cry too," Ty Lee murmured back, and even though Mai couldn't see it, she knew the acrobat wore that small, genuine grin she had when something genuinely touched her, moving two layers deeper than her normal joyous attitude. "I didn't even stop to think that you'd come for me. I should have known better. I should've figured you'd get out of the Boiling Rock."

Mai chuckled and finally pulled away from her friend, crooking her head to the side and giving her a tiny grin. Ty Lee's own broadened as the knifethrower said, "Oh come on...that place was bread and butter to me."

"Ah hate to cut th' reunion short, 'cause it looks like it's a beautiful one..."

Mai cast her attention up to the seaweed beast - completely forgotten in her (_joy?_) of finding Ty Lee, to spot a hole that had appeared in the mass. Bathed in shadow, a portly man with windswept gray hair and an unshorn face lurked within, wearing a gentle, wise grin.

"You're a _person_?" The words tumbled from the knifethrower's mouth before she could keep them back, and she cursed herself mentally for being so green.

"A Waterbender," Ty Lee explained, earning a humble nod from the man inside the seaweed beast. "Huu can bend the water inside plants to manipulate them. Isn't that cool?"

"Sorry about attackin' you," Huu said, fixing Mai with a sincere expression. "Ah just didn't want to take any chances, you know?"

"It's cool." Okay, okay - try to regain your composure. No more small talk. There were still people here trying to kill them and they needed to return the favor. "But you're right. Let's bust some skulls."

And beside her, Ty Lee beamed - and that made everything alright.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The guards grew sparser, giving way to a battlefield more full of bodies than not, mostly their enemy, but the dull orange color of inmate uniforms mingled in with them. Smellerbee didn't recognize any of the fallen. That was okay though, right? It meant that Longshot (_probably_) hadn't been killed, it meant that there was still a chance to find him.

Surestance galloped through the much thinner battlefield, taking no heed for the bodies, his massive, clawed talons pulping flesh and turning bone to dust, and, and he had to be _somewhere_ on this damn wall, didn't he? Where, where, _where_, Smellerbee cast her gaze around, hunkered down against Surestance's neck, the wind and his mane flickering her face, where _was_ he?

And then - there - a throng of guards, surging, falling back as if stung, then pushing into the pile again. Whoever they were attacking was losing, and Smellerbee had to help them whoever they were, because the victim or victims had earned the ire of the guards, so that was worth _something_, wasn't it? The cluster thrummed twenty-five yards ahead, and she whipped Surestance's reins, pushing him further, further. And then the group stopped churning, like they'd gotten their victim under control, and they were moving to the inner lip of the wall; Smellerbee saw feet sticking out from the pile, they were going to throw him, and - she was too far away - she cried out as they heaved, and the (_orange uniform_) inmate plummeted down and and and even from here she could see his long black hair come loose from his ponytail, the narrow jaw, porcelain-white skin, the nose -

"_LONGSHOT!_"

Smellerbee whipped Surestance again and pulled the reins to the right, the ostrich horse leapt, rotated itself in midair, began running down the wall, squawking, croaking, and the archer fell, headfirst, arms straight back, oh Spirits was he _dead_ already and the ground was so far away, but getting closer, so close, so fast, and the war still raged on beneath them. Surestance adjusted his trajectory, and - and got himself beneath Longshot so that the archer fell just above Smellerbee and fuck gravity and the fact that she might fall out if she stood up out of the saddle now, she did, she did, she _defied_ the laws of physics, they could go screw themselves because she was stronger, she held priority, she stood up, she reached out, she grabbed Longshot's arm and pulled him in close to her.

She pushed herself back into the saddle, drew Longshot in and folded her arms around him, tucking his head in, and - and Surestance leapt away from the wall, landed so hard that this time Smellerbee _did_ fall out, took Longshot with her, they landed and tumbled and came to a crashing stop against the wall and it _hurt_ but not so bad really, not like she'd broken or dislocated something. She lay on Longshot's stomach, oh Spirits, his eyes were closed, blood smeared his cheek from a shallow wound, his face bore red marks that would only turn to bruises if, if -

"Please," Smellerbee whispered, pushing herself up, straddling Longshot's torso. She planted her hands on his shoulders, shaking them, gently. "Oh, please. Please, Longshot, we were so close. Don't leave me. Please, you already scared me once like that and I can't take it again."

She was aware, briefly, of footsteps approaching her from behind - but Surestance sidled up to the fallen Freedom Fighters and did not snort or whinny, so be damned if those at her back were enemies. Smellerbee shook him again, harder this time, and she felt - she felt herself overflowing again, but this time Smellerbee-the-warrior, Smellerbee-the-survivor, Smellerbee the Crimson Face, did not show up to keep it under control, they melted away into an abyss where they couldn't be called from because this wasn't a war, this wasn't a battle, this was _personal_. "Wake up. Wake up, _please_ wake up. You saved me at Lake Laogai, you risked your life for me, and now you're - oh no, oh Longshot..."

The fighting had become a distant, isolated thing, separate from the wall, from their little corner of the courtyard. The racket faded into a dull whisper, the metallic tang of blood wafting into the air slipped away. She tuned her senses towards Longshot, turning them inward, but they played tricks on her, they _did_, she couldn't feel his warmth, couldn't see him breathe, couldn't smell the forest on him...her eyes stung, she squeezed them shut to clear away the tears, and felt the corners of her mouth turn down so deeply...

It was like being beneath Lake Laogai all over again. Like kneeling over Jet as he passed, shaking, frightened about what her future would turn into in a world without her older brother, the only parental figure she'd ever had, her best friend...but this, this was worse, this was _Longshot_, they had such a unique bond, such synergy, such...

"You asshole," Smellerbee hissed, her voice warbling, hitching. Tears rolled down her face, and she leaned forward again, closing her eyes. "Longshot...don't...I..." She pressed her head against his chest, the fabric of his uniform rough on her ear. Her pulse thundered through her skull, she drew a deep breath only for it to catch, and, and she'd start to sob soon, because she didn't have a cap to keep her from overflowing, she didn't anymore, it was gone, gone now, gone for good probably, and, and...bringing her face up to his, so still, so _still_, she whispered, "I love you," and ghosted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Oh, no..." came a hushed voice, one of the ones from behind - familiar, deep. Baritone. Best triangle player in all the Freedom Fighters.

Pipsqueak. No doubt he'd been the one who had approached her...Surestance made feeble mewling noises, as if her sorrow spread, tangible, into the air, and...and...

A - a twitch. From below, and, and...and...

"I...love you too, Bee."

She jolted, so fast, so sudden, that she slipped off Longshot and landed hard on her ass, the floor of the courtyard hard and hot even through her fabric - and, and, and he was _grinning_, a pained, faint grin, but it was_ there_, it _was_! Smellerbee felt her chest grow tight, and her breath caught again but not for the same reason, was this some kind of joke, a cruel prank being played by the Spirits? She clasped a hand over her heart, felt it thundering beneath her armor, her breath hot and unsteady, but there he _was_, he was alive, he had survived because the Freedom Fighters were _all_ survivors, not just Smellerbee, he -

She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around him, fitting them beneath his back, and before she even realized it was happening, she kissed him. Not like the coy, gentle ones from before, no, her lips mashed against his, so hot, so passionate, because they'd defied Death again, snatched another life from His jaws, and she exhaled through her nose and felt the heat against her face, and her bubble of awareness grew even narrower. Her senses were too preoccupied, the sound of his body working, the scent of the forest and Ba Sing Se and Omashu and Pan Xing, his lips so wet and delicious and yeah it was kind of gushy and sappy but oh could the man _kiss_, and, and, and.

Smellerbee didn't want to part with him, but - there was still a fraction of her that knew, _knew_ a battle had to be finished, that victory was almost theirs, and she pulled away with a grin lingering on her face. She wiped tears from her eyes and said, "Don't ever scare me like that again, you jerk."

And the archer struggled up onto his elbows. Meeting Smellerbee's eyes, he grinned - he wouldn't have dared, or else she'd come down after him if only to kick his sorry ass.

She laughed her hoarse, ragged laugh - ugly by her standards, but by the way Longshot's eyes crinkled, it may just have been a beautiful stanza of orchestrated music.


	4. Chapter 3, Part 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 3, Part 1: While the fireflies dance on a new moon night, she tempts me with her glistening eyes**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_10 days until Sozin's Comet_

She would have been proud of him. Longshot crooked his head to the side and fixed her with that phantasmal grin of his.

"Yeah?" Smellerbee replied, her knees drawn into her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. A gentle sea breeze rolled by, and the swaying of the metal Fire Nation warship on the ocean's surface tempted her into a trance. She fought off the urge by focusing on, on _him_, and after so long it was almost hard to believe that they'd been reunited, at last. "Pipsqueak told me you did some pretty amazing stuff back there."

Oh, she wouldn't believe it. Longshot bunched his shoulders and stretched his arms, yawning. He was just shy of becoming kind of become the leader of his own Freedom Fighters, sort-of leading the Day of Black Sun invasion force in the prison. He'd been the one to come up with the plans, to help inspire the others. It was crazy.

Smellerbee leaned forward and fixed him with a razor-toothed smirk. The wind combed its fingers through her hair - a fresh sensation, she'd been wearing the hats of others for so long, she hadn't realized how much she missed it. "Well, you weren't the only one. How was it, wearing the Leader Pants? Did you like it?"

He grinned and shook his head, planting his hands back against the ship's deck and leaning back. Not one bit. He was lucky Bato had come along when he did, but even then the entire ordeal had been such a _nightmare_ that he was glad to be rid of the burden. The three combined groups of Freedom Fighters were more than happy to follow Smellerbee anyway, right? He and Bato, and Hakoda and The Duke had yielded the reins to her. He grinned. Jet would have been proud of her; she'd grown so much since...

He paused - glanced away, before continuing on. She had more charisma than Jet ever did and she danced with it the same way when she danced with her swords. Seeing her take command of those who wanted to follow the renegades to Ba Sing Se...stunning, beautiful. Not unlike a certain swordswoman he could name.

Smellerbee's cheeks grew hot and she punched Longshot in the bicep, earning a wince and a grin from the archer. He rubbed the spot tenderly, like it had actually hurt him (and maybe it did), but that was alright. "Well, I'll agree with most of that. Dunno about the last part though. You're not the one whose face looks like it got smooshed into a wall."

Longshot shook his head and rested a hand on her shoulder, his gaze soft, yet serious. It was like he'd said to her on that ferry ride so long ago - as long as she was happy with herself, it didn't matter what she looked like. She had legions of followers, a miniature army, that followed in her footsteps, that didn't judge her. And Longshot loved her, _all_ of her, including her face, and if that wasn't enough for her, well...he let a playful grin flicker across his narrow jaw.

"Hmph. Jerk." Smellerbee cast her gaze down to the broad strips of metal on which they sat - but heat rose up into her ears, and she felt her lips perking up, a tingling sensation that prickled like needles, but - better. Not painful, not at all. It was a good kind of prickling. "You're always right when it comes to that kinda stuff. I guess I kinda forgot myself for a moment there. Thanks, Longshot."

His hand slid from her shoulder to her back, caressing her through her clothes - and _Spirits_ it felt so good, warming her from the inside out, she shuddered even though it was so sweltering out.

The weight of her friends' weapons had been relieved from her; Longshot had reclaimed his bow and the quiver of stolen arrows, and alongside Jet's swords, lay on top of the bed in their shared quarters. Since yesterday, such an immense pressure had been lifted from her; she could finally be herself without relying on Crimson Faced Smellerbee as a crutch. No...that was just a title again, something to be proud of, a flag to wave - nothing more. Her entire _body_ felt lighter, enough so that her feet felt ready to leave the ground at any given time...and with Longshot's support, she may as well have been an Airbender and taken flight, like Aang, gliding through the sky with the archer soaring beside her.

As his hand roved between her shoulder blades, Smellerbee - dammit, she _purred_, so girly, but Longshot didn't capitalize on the opportunity and continued without a thought. At last, Smellerbee murmured, "How are you feeling, anyway? Little better than yesterday?"

Well, he thought, he'd been worked over pretty good and his body hurt all over the place...but that was nothing compared to having her back, and that - that made the sores okay.

Smellerbee let a syrupy smile cross her face and she rested her chin on her knees.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_11 days until Sozin's Comet_

Silence, and nothing but - the courtyard only echoed with the shuffling of those whose feet refused to remain idle, either out of nervousness or impatience. Those guards that remained alive had laid down their weapons and sat, bound, against one of the courtroom walls.

Smellerbee stood in front of the assembled inmates and members of the invasion force, the other core Freedom Fighters stretching out on either side - Longshot and Sneers to her left, The Duke and Pipsqueak to her right. Holding one of Jet's swords up over her head, the swordswoman cast her gaze over the group; Mai, Ty Lee, The Boulder, Huu and the Swampbenders, Hakoda, Chit-Sang...all of them, so many people. A lot of them allied with the Freedom Fighters, the rest not, but...well, who was she to pass up the opportunity to broaden the ranks, right? She allowed a few seconds for the murmurs floating over the crowd to dissipate before lowering the sword and narrowing her eyes.

"Today was a victory for us," she called, raising her voice up high - not as rumbling and vociferous as Pipsqueak could have made it, but Pipsqueak wasn't the one trying to rein all of this in, was he? No, Smellerbee had to take command now, because if she didn't then someone more experienced, like Hakoda, might jump in to make sure the job got done right. No pressure, right? And even though she normally spoke in hoarse words best likened to the whispering of dry leaves skittering against the ground, this was just too important. "The Fire Nation has been oppressing us, _all_ of us - some longer than others. That's why we're all here today; the rule of Fire Lord Ozai has seen that we get tossed into this hellhole.

"Eleven days from now, Sozin's Comet is going to approach the planet and skim its atmosphere." Smellerbee frowned, taking a few steps towards the assembled group. and planting one hand on her hip. "This will grant Firebenders immeasurable power; just like a game of Pai Sho, making a move at such a crucial point is risky and could yield the entire game in our favor. Fire Lord Ozai and the Fire Princess Azula intend to burn the world with us still on it." Hunkering down, she added, "And if they think we're just gonna lie down and take it, they're in for an _enormous_ surprise."

"_HOO-AH!_" The crowd thrust their collective fists into the air, and the cheer - yes, _yes!_ That's what did it, the familiar electric buzz running up from the base of her spine, coursing through her chest and down, out, to the tips of her fingers. She felt her wicked grin slash her face in two, her eyes grow narrow. When the rumbling voices died down, Smellerbee clenched her fingers and stood straight up again, arms tense at her side.

"Now, I look over the lot of you, and I see familiar faces - Freedom Fighters, from head to toe, willing to fight tooth and nail for our liberty." She swiveled her foot, staring at the crowd from an angle, sweeping her gaze over the assembled group. "And then...there are a lot of you I _don't_ know. But even though we're strangers, I know we have one thing in common: our freedom, our very well-being, is worth _fighting_ for. Those of you who are willing to follow us, we'll commandeer three of the ships docked at the prison. I do not expect everyone to follow; the last ship is for you to take if you please. There have been rumors running rampant that the Avatar has been killed, but I come now to dispel these as mistruths: the Avatar has returned, and he will fight the Fire Lord in order to bring peace to this world!"

"_HOO-AH!_"

Smellerbee waited again, and - yes, her heart thundered against her ribs, pounding, so hard and fast she was surprised it didn't spring from her chest, and the electricity, it coursed through her, it took her, she was high, so _high_, her brain buzzed, and she knew, she _knew_ she was on the right path! Clenching Jet's sword tightly, flexing her fingers on the leather grip, she hoisted it back up over her head and shouted for her assembled charges. "Just as the Avatar and his friends do their part, so will we! We shall go to the Earth Kingdom capital, Ba Sing Se, and liberate it from the Fire Nation!"

"_HOO-AH!_" They stomped their feet on the ground, a rhythmic pounding that shook the floor - so many, so much support, Smellerbee could feel it jolting her _knees!_ She thrust the sword even higher into the sky, splitting it, the curved blade glimmering against the sun's light.

"People, Freedom Fighters, we will _show_ the Fire Nation what it's like when they lock us up!" She howled, her voice so raw, so sore, but it wouldn't blow out, she knew it, she had too much energy powering her, the smell of sweat and blood and metal corrosive in her nose, the cheers of her men and women echoing between her ears. "We will show them how much our freedom means to us! When we liberate Ba Sing Se, we'll be sending a message to the Fire Nation, and that message will say, 'We are the masters of our fate, we take control of our own destinies, and in the name of the Spirits and this sacred planet we walk on, we will see that this entire world is _free!'_"

"_HOO-AH!_"

Her grin grew even wider, and from behind, she heard her friends cheering, and felt their support radiating outward, as charged and excited as the rest of the crowd.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_10 days until Sozin's Comet_

As the gentle rocking of the ocean merged with the unnatural churning of the Fire Nation ship, the scent of ocean salt and burning fuels mingled together to create a single unpleasant odor: pollution. A forest fire, only on the water instead of an actual forest. But soon they'd be off these damn ships, and they'd be free to travel however they wanted. That was how Smellerbee validated this trip, and with Longshot's hand ghosting along her back, featherlight and tender, she felt the charge building up - the charge of charisma. It hadn't peaked yet, but it would spill over soon and she'd have to save it for the proper time. For when they had reached Ba Sing Se's walls, for when -

She was thinking about something pretty heavily.

Smellerbee turned to glance at Longshot, whose eyebrows had twisted inward, just the slightest bit - but it was enough for her to see the concern scribbled on his face. She smirked and nodded. "Yeah. I...I dunno if I'm ready to talk about it yet, though."

A smile lighted across his face and he let his eyes slide shut. For all the years she'd spent letting him put the right words together, even silently, he was more than happy to return the favor.

"Thanks, Longshot." She scooted closer to the archer and leaned against him, his body so, so _warm_ against hers, and it was familiar, comforting. She rested her head against his shoulder, narrow and rounded; it had been four weeks since she'd been this close to him. And even though ship's crew milled about on the deck of the ship within line of sight, it felt like they were alone, the ocean spanning out before them, glistening and sparkling in the sun's rays.

She had not told anyone about General Iroh's gift to her; the lotus tile lay in a breast pocket, tucked just to the side of the baby whale-shark tooth dangling from the leather thong around her neck. The one Bedrock had lent to her before cleaning up the Overdweller mess. The one Smellerbee had tried to give back; the one the young, frail child had insist she hold onto until the war was over, because Smellerbee needed it more than she did. (Just thinking about her unending kindness made her heart swell in her ribcage.) She wasn't sure if...if she should play whatever Iroh had in store for her close to the chest. She trusted her core enough to share the secret with them, but as the leader of the Freedom Fighters, she had to show some discretion. The line separating sharing secrets with close friends in confidentiality and blabbing about something that should always go unsaid was so hard to find. She'd have to scrutinize...she'd have to take responsibility in her new position in the world.

Once again, the unique, jittery, fantastic sensation of achieving heights Jet had never aspired to reach shuddered through her body. Not only had she broken the typical mold the Freedom Fighters had set for themselves by inducting (at least temporarily) Fire Nation into their ranks, but she'd rebuilt the group from a renegade assemblage of rag-tag children armed only with rusty knives into a significant fighting force that spread over _hundreds_ of people. This mysterious lotus tile...silly as it sounded, Smellerbee felt some immense power attached to it, all sprawly and deep. The tile meant something.

Reaching her arm out across her lap, Smellerbee took Longshot's free hand and squeezed it gently. Let the politics wait. She had a lot of hugging time to catch up on, and not a whole lot of time to do it.

After a moment, Longshot snaked the hand rubbing Smellerbee's back around her side; he tilted his head to rest it on hers. Whatever she was thinking about - that's why they were going to Ba Sing Se, right? Despite Pan Xing, he wasn't a leader, but didn't it make more sense to go right for the Fire Nation?

The swordswoman let a quiet smile pull at her lips. He hadn't asked for any specifics; didn't pry, didn't ask _why_ she had decided to lead them to Ba Sing Se. That's kinda how he felt about her when she let him speak without talking. What he said, he said it passionately and succinctly. "I can't really tell you the specifics. Ba Sing Se is the more strategic move; after all, most of our new Freedom Fighters are from the Day of Black Sun invasion force. They had that Firebender-blocking eclipse and still lost when they went straight for the Fire Nation capital, you know? Besides, Aang and his group probably have it under control."

Yeah...that made sense. Ba Sing Se it is.

And she didn't need to look at him to know that he was smiling.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_9 days until Sozin's Comet_

Sitting in the helm of their Fire Nation ship - a massive, metal beast colored onyx and shaped like a rhinoceros shark - Smellerbee found herself poring over maps splayed out across a cold, unfeeling table. (Which was also made of metal, just typical of the Fire Nation's style - all industrial, completely devoid of any natural touches.) She hated this thing, Ba Sing Se was too far away to reach by land, even if they'd had enough ostrich horses to accommodate everyone who had come along, and so it was just a bitter pill that needed swallowing.

The air smelled like grease, too, and the scent of burning charcoal wafted up from the engine rooms on occasion, a disgusting, artificial odor that made her gag.

Sitting perpendicular to her was the Water Tribe chieftain, Hakoda; he wore the same serious gaze she did, and every time she stole a glance up to the mocha-skinned warrior, he had is eyes fixed on the map, studying it, his chin crooked in his thumb and forefinger. Talking to him...well, it wasn't really _difficult_. She had more trouble getting Pestle to open up, it was like prying open a clam with that girl. But he was a leader, too, and he had so many more years' experience compared to Smellerbee, and she could tell just by looking at him that his life had been one of hardship, just like hers. Maybe not as...thoroughly, she guessed the word was, but the rough lines on his face, the ice-blue color of his eyes casting off the sensation of a glimmering sword cutting through flesh...

He and Bato had become something of strategic advisors and worked very well with Sneers, but their knowledge of the world's geography outshadowed the monk's extensively, and so the chieftain and his second doubled as the ships' navigator. The maps splayed out before herself and Hakoda made a _little_ sense to Smellerbee, but - not enough, and Hakoda had been a tremendous help so far. Engaging him in technical conversation was simple, it was just the casual stuff that came out awkward.

Silence had built up between the pair, while the helmsman - a member of the Water Tribe with experience behind the wheel of a ship - slipped orders to his subordinates, using the call tubes to order for more steam, or heavier application of grease, et cetera, et cetera. It was a terrible silence, one where she felt uncomfortable in her own skin despite the fact that Longshot had been there yesterday to help stand her upright again.

Tension was building up, she knew it. The kind where there was a lot on the line and nobody really spoke about it even though they _ought_ to. Jeez…what the hell kind of leader was she if she didn't talk to the people bold enough to help her? Better to just get it over with by this point, take a deep breath and plunge into the mess headfirst. Bringing her attention back down to the maps, she said, "Thanks for this. The whole navigator thing."

Hakoda did not look up at her, instead returning her with a solid, sincere, "It's not a problem. I'll do anything I can to pull my weight here."

Smellerbee's ears prickled with stippling heat, and she felt herself grinning. "Well, if we hadn't have had your advice, we'd be sailing through Fire Nation waters right now."

Hakoda chuckled. "Going northwest is the quickest route to Ba Sing Se, but there'd be too many checkpoints and inspections. It wouldn't be a question of getting there before the comet comes, since we'd probably get so hung up that we'd miss it altogether."

"So cutting through Earth Kingdom oceans is a bit of a longer trip, but there's less checkpoints." She surmised.

"Exactly." _Now_ Hakoda glanced up at her, and she shifted her gaze to meet and return it. His mouth set into a straight line, his eyes glittering and razor-sharp, he said, "Once we get to the mainland, it'll be even less of a problem. The Fire Nation hasn't fully occupied the rivers cutting the Earth Kingdom in two, so we'll only really run into trouble at the Serpent's Pass; Bato and I can't be seen because we already bumped into the unit patrolling that area, but we can get others to act in our place."

Smellerbee grinned and nodded. "I can get behind that."

The swordswoman drew another deep breath – Hakoda's attention returned to the map, and a pause floated over their heads. With their tactical discussion at an end, that awkward, full-on silence loomed overhead. She couldn't stop here, with the one, most important question hanging on her tongue, and even though her back and body felt light, her mouth and mind were weighted down. She wanted an answer, and the flow of their conversation was beginning to settle…just plunge in headfirst, Smellerbee. Take this opportunity or else you might not ever know.

"Hey, Hakoda?"

"Mm?" He glanced back up at her, hiking one eyebrow.

"How come…" She let her gaze flick away for a moment, glancing at the raven-black walls of the helm, to the brilliant blue sky out the windows, before returning to him. Plunge in headfirst. "How come you let me take control? You're older an' you've got more experience with that sorta thing."

He smiled, and – it was kinda weird, his eyes wrinkled in the corners, just like Longshot. It was kinda strange, but at the same time…it was nice, a familiar sight from someone she barely knew. "I don't know why you ask. You're doing fine by yourself."

"No, seriously." She shook her head and bunched up her shoulders. Why was he being so damn coy about it? "You're the chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe. You've been fighting the Fire Nation for a while."

He shrugged. "Only actively for three years. If what The Duke said was true, that's not even half as long as you've been, and even then not as frequently. I might be a warrior and I might be used to being a leader, but don't let my age fool you." And that smile returned to his face, startling and warm and so contrasting to the coldness in his eyes. Even then, they gleamed with sincerity; it was hard to deny him, and maybe it was a natural hierarchal sensation for the man.

"Okay, I can see that," Smellerbee yielded. But that couldn't be all, could it? There was something else dancing behind his eyes, out of sight, and she was determined to pull the right answers. And then she realized in her search for a straightforward answer that, sitting beside Hakoda, a man that had seen war and loss just like she had, the only thing separating them was age. They were peers, and there really wasn't any reason to feel so…so inadequate when speaking to him on a personal basis. Sitting upright, resolve strengthened, she added, "But there's more."

Hakoda chuckled again, closing his eyes, a faint smile crooking on his lips. "You caught me red-handed. The reason I'm letting you take control – the _real_ reason – is because you're the one that helped pull all this together. My children and their friends have always been the figureheads of this war; you and your friends have been behind the scenes this entire time, putting in the same amount of effort if not more."

He opened his eyes again and cast them out the windows of the helm, glancing down at the deck of the ship as it narrowed into a fine point at the bough. "If not for The Duke and Pipsqueak, Sokka would never have gotten the idea to bring allies from the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes together. You and Longshot influenced others to help our cause – The Boulder explained to me how your meeting opened his eyes, turned him from a renegade into an Earth Kingdom loyalist. You convinced Huu and the other Swampbenders that the world at large needed their help, that Foggy Swamp would suffer regardless. And if you hadn't met Mai and Ty Lee in Omashu, they might not have saved our lives at the Boiling Rock." Hakoda turned his attention back to Smellerbee and crooked his head to the side, smirking. "And you led us in battle at Pan Xing Island. Successfully, I'd add. We kept casualties to a minimum and you swayed enough of the inmates there to our cause that retaking Ba Sing Se is a realistic goal, even with Sozin's Comet superpowering Firebenders."

Smellerbee felt her ears prickling with heat all over again, and not just her ears but her cheeks, too, and a grin formed up on her face before she could quelsh it. She felt her chest thrumming, and, it was just so _obvious_ now. It made sense. If she could take that knowledge with her and not get a big head about it, then everything'd wind up okay. She smiled and whispered a modest, "Thanks."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_10 days until Sozin's Comet_

Hey.

"Yeah?"

There's something that Longshot needed to talk to Smellerbee about.

The swordswoman did not move from Longshot. She felt his hesitation, but - well, anything he had to say now didn't stand up to the fact that they'd been brought back together. Even though he figured it'd be a mood-killer. "Sure. Lay it on me."

She felt his shoulders tense as he breathed in, forming the words inside his head. And with her cheek pressed into Longshot's shoulder, she felt the roughness of the prison uniform he wore, drawn back into a distant memory where she'd been a miner brat, forced to wear clothes that were too dirty, too big, too starched. Clothes with frayed edges. Clothes that had belonged to many other people before her, and if she hadn't done something about that camp, hadn't shot for the heavens to earn her freedom, then the clothes would have been passed down to many others afterwards.

At last, Longshot let out a gentle sigh and squeezed her hand. It's a few years too late, and...well, the other Freedom Fighters never questioned her about it. But she never really killed Spatula, did she?

Her eyes snapped open, and saw the glistening ocean again, framed by the steel railing that kept any crew from accidentally going overboard. Her muscles tensed up and she clutched Longshot's hand in return - too hard, because she heard him grunt, but he didn't flinch, didn't say anything to her about it.

"How did you know?" She asked. She didn't wanna move her head, though - pulling away from him would be a mistake, a sign of cowardice. No, he'd figured the truth out somehow. Distancing herself from him would only serve as a sign of avoiding responsibility, y'know? It'd only been a few minutes ago that she had all that planned out. Dodging the fire ball here was bad news.

That didn't mean Longshot's sudden revelation didn't take her by surprise, though.

The archer shrugged. She'd kept that secret to herself ever since the whole mess with Skillet's old kitchen, and the others always believed it. 'Cause why would she make something like that up? She was supposed to have hated Firebenders as a matter of virtue, just like everyone else. You know, back then.

Smellerbee felt a rueful smile cross her face, she chuckled and eased the deathgrip she'd put on his hand. "I never told anyone about it. I can't stand him, but...he wasn't a bad person. He could still make right somewhere in the world."

Longshot rubbed her shoulder in response, sending a tingling warmth radiating from that point outward, filling her torso and arms and legs with the brand of love and affection only he could dole out, even in messed up situations like this. It made the whole thing so easy to deal with, and it made Smellerbee nuzzle even closer to him, his body pressed tightly against hers.

Well...Longshot paused as he tried to piece the facts together right. It was hard to put it right.

"Give it your best shot."

Okay. See - Spatula was his cellmate in Pan Xing Island. He looked a lot different - he'd been working out - but it was still him, and he'd told her the story of how Smellerbee decided to let him into the Freedom Fighters even though he was Fire Nation.

She chuckled and rested her hand on his thigh. "Yeah. Broke the rules, screwed up bigtime. It only got everyone hurt in the end, didn't it?"

Except Spatula hadn't done anything out of the ordinary when that kitchen fire broke out. He'd looked away for a second, that's all.

The metallic tang of the ship rose up into her nostrils - bitter and acrid. A bad taste swelled up around her tongue...it left her wondering, though, if it was 'cause of the odor, or 'cause of such an obnoxious ghost being dragged up from the grave. After a little deliberation, she decided it was parts of both, though mostly the latter.

"See, he told me that, too..." She sighed. "I didn't believe him at the time. I only let him live 'cause he saved the lives of those kids. And Jet, and Skillet."

Well, shouldn't that tell her something? Longshot lured his hand away from her shoulder and began to stroke her shaggy mop of hair. He took responsibility for himself by doing the right thing, even at the expense of his redemption. The one she'd encouraged him to follow up on. In the past, denial might've worked for her, but ever since Jet had died, she'd...she'd kinda grown up and shed that from herself.

"Hmph. You're a real ass, you know that?"

He grinned. Yeah, he was pretty good at that.

"So...'zat mean he's followed us? He's on one of the ships somewhere?" She felt weight building up in her chest, hating the convoluted mess of sensations that'd been churning inside her, like bad oysters. Electricity and warmth and disgust all swirled around, and - ugh. That was the most accurate thing to say about that sorta sensation, but she _refused_ to let it get her down; she had the support of so many people, and...well, if Spatula _was_ sneakin' around somewhere in this mess, at best it meant that he was putting his weight behind her, too. She wouldn't back down or fall to her guilt and insecurities.

Maybe it was time to put the ghost to rest, she figured.

Longshot's shoulders relaxed a little bit - probably because he felt the tension building in Smellerbee also settling down. Spatula'd been avoiding most of the core ever since Pan Xing came to a close. Like, he and Pipsqueak knew Spatula was around, and Ty Lee was privy to his history as a Freedom Fighter to an extent, but he's been keeping a low profile to avoid Smellerbee and Sneers. He really didn't care if he crossed paths with The Duke, since they'd been kinda friendly in their time together, but Sneers isn't really forgiving and he had..._history_ with Smellerbee.

At last, the swordswoman wriggled her head free from Longshot and craned her neck to face him; he, in turn, met her eyes, his beautiful and warm and chocolatey and so welcoming, pools so welcoming she wanted to just jump in and swim in them. He fixed her with a ghost of a smile, his eyebrows folding down. She'd do the right thing. He had faith in her.

"Thanks." She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him gently on the cheek; his skin felt like warm syrup against hers, and - jeez, she could just eat the man _up_ if the circumstances weren't so drastic right now. Even the kiss was chaste because she had loose ends to tie up; she'd spend as much free time with the archer as she could, but work needed getting done. Longshot read her body language, and they both clambered up to their feet at the same time; and, just like the last time the pair of them had been on a boat together, Longshot wrapped his fingers around her biceps, bowing his head slightly.

She'd do the Freedom Fighters proud. She'd have done Jet proud. Stepping out of a shadow that large wasn't an easy task, but she'd done it, and with no modicum of flair. His eyes glittered, just like the ocean, and Smellerbee felt her chest lurch, tighten. (_Oh, don't cry now, don't have a moment_) She had become a beautiful woman in her own ways, and he believed in her with his entire being.

And - and dammit, there wasn't any stopping it. Her eyes stung and her throat hitched, and she felt warm trickles of salt sliding down her face. Her throat squirmed and she gasped, because her breath just wouldn't come out right, and she smiled. The connection was complete. It was corny as hell, but - be damned if Longshot couldn't make something so cheesy be so touching at the same time. She threw herself at him and wrapped him in her arms, pressing her cheek against his chest.

"You really _are_ an ass, making me cry like this," she whispered, her voice faltering.

He swallowed her up in an embrace of his own, fulfilling her, and yes, she truly felt _whole_ again.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_6 days until Sozin's Comet_

It took a little time, and it was completely accidental, but Smellerbee finally stumbled across Spatula while checking on the progress of the engine room. She didn't _have_ to be there; she'd put one of the Hong Ye Freedom Fighters in charge of overseeing the place, and he would, in turn, report to Smellerbee about the general condition of things. Unfortunately, said Freedom Fighter had caught some kind of twenty-four hour flu and still had to work it off; rather than finding another person to take his place, Smellerbee took it upon herself to see how her charges fared directly.

The engine rooms were a dank, entangled mess of red lights, metal floors and walls, furnaces, grills, pipes, coal supplies, and free-roaming heat, walking around like it owned the damn place (and given the national element from which it heralded, that made sense, as much as she hated to admit). It felt...claustrophobic. Suffocating. She didn't have a problem with tight spaces herself, but even this place gave her the unshakable feeling that the walls were shrinking and trying to squeeze the life out of her.

Maybe she only felt the pressure 'cause it was everything she hated about the Fire Nation crushing down on all sides. This was, it was permanent, it was there forever, and the only way to escape it, the choking atmosphere it threw at its personnel with reckless abandon, was to leave the place. They couldn't do that until they made landfall two days from now.

All she could do at this point was gulp down the lump rising up in her throat.

When she found him, Spatula had taken to lurking in the engineer's quarters, pulling his weight by shoveling coal into the furnaces that kept the ships moving; he stood in front of one, working with his shirt off, and - and it was weird, seeing him like that, because bare skinned, he had some seriously toned muscles going on there. His body glistened with sweat, and he wore a red headband over his forehead to keep the stuff from pouring down into his eyes. The way his abs and pecs rippled beneath his skin, his upper arms bulging each time he buried his spade into the mountain of coal behind him, turning and dumping it into the open-gate furnace...she felt a lump rising up in her throat and heat flushing her face that had _nothing_ to do with the furnace room.

The Spatula of three years' past had been a Flabby McBigbutt, barely capable of running thirty paces without gettin' winded. He'd been a boy in a man's body (and okay, he'd only been fourteen at the time, but that was old enough for many soldiers to be considered adults). Now, though...now he looked more the part. More his age. His face wasn't as round as it had been, dropping most of the baby fat; likewise, his hair had grown out, shaggy and messy, draped down across the back of his neck, going just a little past his shoulders.

It was too sudden, too unexpected. She'd been down here as a matter of protocol, 'cause she had the time and had to make a good impression as a leader that she was willing to do any job she tasked to anyone else. Bumping into him down here, when he hadn't even really been a thought ever since Longshot brought him up a few days ago...it caught her off balance. Seeing the man (yes, _man_ now) working, so hard, like this, like _that_...she shuddered, suppressing the thoughts welling up into her mind.

The idiot had gotten sexy in his time away. She clenched her jaw and squinched her eyes shut - she had to force those thoughts away because, because she was here on business, and sweaty-half-naked Spatula was kinda yummy and -

Okay. Okay, stop. Be professional. Be a leader. Do what you have to do.

Longshot had hinted at the fact that Spatula wanted back in the Freedom Fighters, and Smellerbee was pretty sure Pipsqueak'd back the archer up on that sentiment. The Duke, well, he'd take an objective view on the matter an' probably wind up agreeing with those two, wouldn't he?

Smellerbee and Sneers would be less inclined. That only really left Skillet if the scales needed tipping, and she was a wildcard.

Something to think about later, really. Now she needed to talk to the man, to...to close the wound that Longshot had reopened. To end the chapter of her life that started three years ago. She hung back for a while, leaning against a pipe that didn't scald like the rest of them, but still radiated a growing warmth. Her mind flickered to what it's purpose could be as she tried to put together the right words, a puzzle in her head - tackling this ham-handedly would be a mistake. But they were elusive, slick; they wouldn't stay in her fingers, and she couldn't cobble anything graceful together.

Fancy speaking had never been her strong point anyway. If she wanted to inspire a crowd, she could do that - she could strike any group willing to serve her with bolts of charismatic lightning, make them rise up and cheer and help her take a stand in the face of those who oppressed 'em. Putting words gently? Different story. Pipsqueak could do that, The Duke could _really_ do that, but Smellerbee didn't have that gift and preferred being blunt when given the opportunity.

Ah well. Guess it'd be straightforward, then.

Spatula had his back to her now as he turned to get his next shovelful, the muscles around his shoulderblades bulging; he impaled the coal with his spade again with a dry splitting sound, turned, hurled it into the furnace - and it was now or never, say something, Bee, _do_ something -

She pushed away from the pipe and walked closer to him, crossing her arms over her chest. Quietly, voice low - 'cause she couldn't really figure out _how_ she felt right now - she said, "Been a long time, Spatula."

He froze, spade halfway back to the coal pile; his shoulders bunched up and Smellerbee could just imagine his panic at being found out, caught, discovered by the girl who had loathed him so much, and yet had inspired him to be much more than himself. At last, he turned around, eyes wide and mouth drawn in a taut line. Oh yeah, he was scared all right; pale as he was to begin with, the color had drained from his face, and Smellerbee saw his grip on his spade slacken.

"Er - uh - hi?" He stammered. He couldn't hide the meekness in his voice, and Smellerbee felt her eyes narrowing just out of irritation. "Smellerbee, h-h-how're you doing? Good to see, uh, see you again."

"I'm not sure how I feel about your ass being on my ship, to be honest." She did her best to act indifferent, propping an elbow up on the nearest wall. She brought her hand up and pretended to examine her fingernails (_rough and unladylike with dirt encrusted beneath them_). "But Longshot, Pipsqueak and Ty Lee have all told me how you helped them in the prison. How you took the fight to the enemy."

"I...I was only doing what I could for my friends," Spatula murmured, and Smellerbee was aware of his grip tightening once more on his shovel. "And I figured you wouldn't wanna, you know, see me. I didn't want to be a lump, though, so I've been pitching in down here, doing what I could."

Smellerbee sighed through her nose and closed her eyes, the heat stifling her from all sides. "I appreciate you thinking ahead like that. If I'd found you before the others got to say anything..."

"Look, I know I'm the last person you'd ever want to see." Spatula's voice came out matter-of-fact, and Smellerbee couldn't suppress the fact that this meeting would be uncomfortable, and giving up _this_ ghost would be taxing on her pride. "I'm doing what I can to un-screw up my, uh, screw ups. I had a lotta time to think locked up in prison, and now that I'm out again, I have a chance to make right. I can't let that go."

Smellerbee finally pulled her hand away and looked up into his eyes, his body framed by glowing dark red...she realized that the engine room wasn't the appropriate place to have this discussion. Jerking her head, she said, "Come on - let's take a walk and sort this out." Pointing at another engineer, this one also shirtless, but wearing a mask to keep his lungs clear of the burnt air, she said, "You, find a replacement and get this furnace covered. Okay?"

The man nodded and turned away from his post, venturing into the stifling, heart-hammering catacombs of the ship's belly. Gesturing for Spatula to follow her, Smellerbee led him down the opposite way - the way she'd come from in the first place. After a few minutes' silence, the halls became cooler and easier to breathe in, less stuffy, _far_ more comfortable. For her, anyway; Spatula couldn't have radiated a bigger aura of jitteriness if he tried. The swordswoman saw how he kept tilting his head forward and to one side, scratching his scalp just behind the ears; how he'd keep looking around, as if trying to pin down some elusive thoughts. He'd picked up his worker's shirt before leaving, a rough, dry thing that had been white at some point, but looked about as aged as Smellerbee's clothes had been at the mining camp all those years ago, and while he hadn't put it on yet, he still plucked at the frayed edges. Smellerbee wouldn't engage him just yet...she wanted to wait, to see if the man had the courage to start something up himself.

Maybe it was out of awkwardness, or maybe outta boldness...or maybe a convincing mix of both, but before they made it out from the guts of the ship, Spatula finally spoke. "So...what do you wanna talk about?"

"Your standings," Smellerbee replied, crossing her arms over her chest and feeling a small twinge satisfaction rising up inside her. He'd managed to take the initiative after all. No need to beat around the bushes; all that would lead to was wasted time, and she didn't have room for that on her schedule. "You...you did good in the prison. Longshot might'a suffered some permanent damage if you hadn't been there to help him, and..." she glanced away, looking at the floor as they walked, the metal beneath her slick and metallic and smelling strongly of oils and copper, a tang wafting up into her nostrils. Their boots clomped against it, his heels squeaking occasionally because of the slight instep he suffered from. "You've owned up to your mistake from three years ago. I wish I had the same courage."

"Huh?" Spatula craned his neck down, trying to look the swordswoman in the eye, a curious frown on his face. "You're way stronger than I am, what are you talking about?"

Smellerbee drew a breath through her nose and let it out in a gust. "Looking back on that day - I can't say that I made a mistake, if only because Jet would have kicked me out of the forest if he found out I'd been conspiring with you. I know I _did_ mess up, but I can't really admit it, knowing what was on the line for me."

Spatula shook his head in response, giving a small "Hmph!" of disagreement. "You did what's right by you. I don't want you to feel bad because I fucked up, you know?"

She felt a grin cross her face, but still didn't look at him, because it had no sincerity to it. This would suck. It would _really_ suck. The bitter pill she had been dreading ever since Spatula's mysterious resurrection had been brought to her attention. Him sympathizing with her made it harder than if he'd agreed with the sentiment outright; if he'd done the latter, it wouldn't make her feel like a hypocrite. She _hated_ that sensation.

"Alright, well - let's put that aside for now, because the past is the past and there's more important things we need to discuss." She felt her face fall into a more neutral expression, her eyelids heavy, the shadows of her mascara visible on the fringe of her cheeks. "Longshot told me you wanted to get back in the Freedom Fighters."

"Uh." He coughed and shrugged his shoulders, popping his neck as if to clear away any built-up cramps. "Not exactly in those words. It was a hypothetical question more than anything. I asked him if he'd let me back, and he replied with something like, if it were up to him, he'd say yes, and it wasn't exclusively Jet's choice anymore. I don't know what that means, or if Jet's changed his outlook or not, but you seem to be a lot more comfortable with Fire Nation-born."

Smellerbee felt a dull ache in her chest; it kinda surprised her that Longshot wouldn't've told him the whole truth. Or maybe he had, and Spatula just didn't understand it that well, cause of the whole not-speaky thing. But then why would Pipsqueak not say anything about it...?

He - Spatula didn't know, did he?

Telling people who'd known Jet that weren't privy to his murder never got any easier. This would be worse than talking to the Firebender in general; that bitter pill turned into a root, one so big that you needed to cut it up into pieces before eating the whole thing. Taking a sharp breath - cool, not so stifled now that they approached the exit to the ship's engine room - Smellerbee mumbled, "Jet doesn't get all the say anymore 'cause he's not the one in charge. You didn't get that from all the speech-making I've been doing?"

"Whaddaya mean?" But she could tell by how Spatula's tone had gone low, quiet, barely suppressing the morbidity he surely felt in asking that he already felt it - that he kinda already _knew_ the truth. "Bee, what happened?"

"Don't call me that." She shook her head. "I still don't like you. You're not on a nickname basis with me."

"Okay, fine. But you still haven't told me - "

"Are you being this thick to annoy me, or is it all natural?"

"I - " Spatula bit his lower lip - then his eyes went wide as realization dawned on him. "Oh..." He heaved a sigh and rested a hand on Smellerbee's shoulder, and they stepped out into the warm air, comforting against her skin compared to the ship's bowels. But they weren't done walking just yet. "I'm...I'm so sorry, I...how?"

Smellerbee felt that familiar sensation of her navel being jerked up into her throat - every time she brought the subject up. She didn't cry anymore, but her insides always felt funny, like they'd been replaced by wriggling frogs. "It was in Ba Sing Se. By an _Earthbender_, no less." She shook her head and laughed, heaved in order to stave off the squirminess that threatened to overtake her. Low and rasping and dry. Bitter. Rueful. "You wouldn't think a person like him would be killed by a member of his own nation, but he was. Longshot and I were left for dead...but we escaped. We survived. I guess that means we were stronger than he was."

She glanced up to meet his gaze - his wide, round eyes folded in concern. "Jet made a mistake and it can't be undone. All we can do is use his murder as inspiration and a lesson; not every villain is Fire Nation, and not every man from the Fire Nation is a villain. I'd been learning to accept that fact on the trip to Ba Sing Se, but it was only when we got there and after we left that the idea got pounded into my head."

"It sucks that it took _that_ to really drive it home." There was a sincerity to the words that surprised Smellerbee, because she had been expecting something lamer, much more feeble, as if the words would not formulate properly for him, like they usually did. He didn't stumble or sound two-dimensional. It was weird. "Listen, if there's anything I can do to help..."

"You can, which is why I'm pulling you off engineer duty." Turning around so that the towering ship's helm rose up and pierced the gray sky to their left, Smellerbee opened a door with a raucous squeal and pulled Spatula into the ensuing light. The Firebender blinked, shocked, at the sight before them: the ship's galley spanned throughout most of the helm's frame, although the ceiling was no higher than fifteen feet. With red-orange walls and cast-iron-black counters and stoves, cabinets lined the floor and ceiling, and counters for preparing food, dicing veggies, and rolling dough in powder had been organized in neat little blocks in the room's center. She could see the wonder, the sparkle in his eyes - the stupid, dopey grin pulling up on his face, that of a man who had been lost for three years rediscovering his purpose.

Even though the room and its furnishes had an undeniable industrial practicality to them that Smellerbee found distasteful, the delectable scents of cooking fish trudged up from the Eastern Ocean overcame her, and she had to exert physical effort by clamping her mouth shut in order to avoid drooling. Garnishes - oregano, paprika, kabal spice - mingled up into the air, and steamed cabbages complimented the experience. The aroma of freshly-baked bread made her lick her lips, oh Spirits it smelled so _good_ and coming here was always so much torture...

...but it was nothing compared to Spatula's awe, as the man took in everything, visually engorging himself, before turning to Smellerbee with a familiar, childlike eagerness in his eyes that she hadn't seen in too long.

"I - you mean - I'm part of the kitchen staff now?" His voice was light and tiny and kinda adorable, and Smellerbee had to chuckle. She reached over to the wall at her left, to the utensil rack standing on the counter, and grabbed a metal spatula. She passed it over to the Firebender, whose eyes went even wider, shifting down to the item after which he'd been named, then back up to the Freedom Fighter.

"You were a pretty good cook." Smellerbee planted one hand on her hip and crooked her head to the side. "I'll give you that much. I liked your kabal skewers, even if they were spicy enough to make a fire spirit cry."

"Eee!" Spatula squealed and drew Smellerbee up into a great big hug - his arms absolutely absorbing her, and, and he smelled like coal and fire and sweat, but he was warm, and he was..._different_, and Smellerbee let him get his fill before he parted from her, beaming. "Thank you! I won't let you down, I promise."

"Good." But now - she had to regard him with a more serious disposition, her eyes narrowing. "As for whether or not you're welcome back in the Freedom Fighters, though...I'm going to have to put it to a vote. If the core votes in your favor, then you're in..." She frowned to emphasize her point, her voice sharp enough to cut through the wonderful scents peppering the air. "But if we vote against you, then you're on your own again. Understand?"

The wonderment in Spatula's eyes faded, but it was not replaced by confusion; instead, he returned her gaze and nodded, saying, "Yes. I get it. I'll do everything I can to prove I'm worthy."

The kitchen really did give the man a spine. Smellerbee nodded to him and turned on a heel, leaving the wonderful aromas behind her.


	5. Chapter 3, Part 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 3, Part 2: Until the sun is up, I can't give up on you**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_10 days until Sozin's Comet_

As Longshot parted from Smellerbee, Teo wheeled from around a nearby corner, pulling to a stop in front of the two Freedom Fighters. The wooden wheels of his chair clacked against the metal plating making up the ship's deck, and he seemed to have trouble navigating - probably due to the ship's rocking and swaying. Smellerbee closed the distance between herself and him, hiking her eyebrows.

"Hey, Teo. What's going on?" She asked, blinking. The chair-bound Freedom Fighter (she had no problem addressing him as a _proper _Freedom Fighter...of all those that The Duke had to work with, and those that Smellerbee and Longshot had been forced to utilize, Teo had proven himself as the most courageous and sensible of the lot short of Hakoda and Bato) furrowed his brow, she could see it even though he wore his goggles on his forehead; a light frown tugged down at the corners of his mouth, and it was only now that she was close to him that Smellerbee noticed the mailing tube laid over the bandages wrapping his legs together. That probably explained his difficulty moving, then; couldn't hold it and move at the same time and didn't want it to fall off his legs.

"A messenger hawk landed on the ship and had this tied to its leg," the teen said, applying the brake mechanism on his chair and passing the white and sky-blue tube to the swordswoman. "I've never seen a mail tube like this before. All the ones I've encountered have had the symbols of their nation strapped to their chest and stamped on the seal of the tube...but this is a new one on me. Check the seal out; the hawk's got a symbol identical to it on its harness."

Smellerbee turned the tube over; although elaborate, flowing whites-and-blues had already given her an idea, looking at the seal made it official. The tube had been topped with white wax, pressed into the shape of a lotus flower, echoing a matte reflection of the sunlight as she shifted it in her hands.

Her fingertips tingled with electrified energy and she felt her abdomen tighten; it became hard to breathe, but it wasn't out of suffocation, it was sheer nerves, just looking at the tube itself giving her frayed edges. She couldn't see it - neither could Longshot or Teo - but her ears flushed a bright red, burning. Her mind buzzed, and this was...this was almost too much to take, almost too much to take in!

An edict from Iroh. The lotus seal couldn't make it any clearer. This was such a big deal, but it was so cool at the same time...

Longshot had moved up behind her - she didn't know when, hadn't really been paying attention - and laid a hand on Smellerbee's shoulder. She glanced over to him; was she okay? His eyes glistened with concern, his brow furrowing beneath his hat. Did she need to sit down, or...?

"Um - I'm fine." She murmured, forcing a grin. But he lowered one eyebrow even further - he didn't buy it one bit, she could tell, but he didn't pursue it, thank the Spirits. A mutual understanding for each others' needs. Turning to Teo, she said, "Thanks for bringin' this to me, Teo."

"No problem." The chair-bound kid flashed a thumbs-up and grinned. "See you guys in a bit!" He undid his brake and skidded around in a sharp circle (okay, it had definitely been the scroll he'd been struggling with), tearing across the deck's surface as if he'd owned it for years.

Smellerbee drew in a deep breath, exhaling it in a cold, jittery puff that pushed up her bangs. Oh man. Oh _man_. This was...it was big. She didn't have any proof, but just holding the mail tube lit her up. But...she glanced over at Longshot, who had occupied himself by looking out to the ocean again, spreading out in all directions beyond the ship's rail. A couple splotches of land cast their silhouettes across the surface, but nothing significant enough to be an actual island. Her previous musings rose up to the top of her mind, the tip of her tongue, all over again...she'd wanted to tell him about her meeting with the Dragon of the West anyway, it wasn't a secret that he had crossed paths with the Freedom Fighters, but the same problem persisted. How _much_ should she divulge? If she couldn't trust Longshot, then she couldn't trust anybody, but...

Ugh. Shit.

"Hey, Longshot?"

He turned his attention back to her, and a faint smile played across his lips; his eyes sparkled again, but not out of concerned, and his eyebrows had arced inward. Look, it was okay - he understood. It was part of that thing she couldn't talk about. He'd promised he'd wait until she could put it together, and he never went back on his promises. She had an obligation, and he was absolutely cool with it.

Smellerbee laughed and clapped him hard on the back; he winced, still sore from the battle yesterday, but his smile didn't fade as he laughed along with her, in his silent grace.

"Just a couple minutes, nothing more." Smellerbee glanced around before looking back at Longshot and crooking her head, smirking. "Keep your eye out for any troublemakers while I'm gone."

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Will do; tell him any interesting parts if she can.

She moved away from him - crossed the deck, descending down a staircase mounted into the onyx-black panels, into the red-lit hallways below, passing by doors that led to crew quarters on either side. She didn't like being far from the exit, if she could help it; if an emergency came up, or if they were boarded and she was asleep, she wanted to be close to the top so she could efficiently respond to it. A matter of habit, you know? Sorta like being on permanent watch duty, only she could rest through it.

She arrived at her own quarters and pushed the door open - metal and heavy and squealing, just like everything else on this damn ship. Crossing the threshold, she pushed the door closed again behind her, taking in her surroundings with narrowed eyes. It was very spartan, meant for a soldier of some recognizable rank, most likely an officer (she bunked with Longshot); one bed had been built into the wall, chained into place, large enough to accommodate both Freedom Fighters if they huddled close together (they did). A single metal desk had been propped up against the third wall, with a wooden chair sitting underneath; two lamps emitting a flickering, golden light had been mounted on opposite walls perpendicular to the door, and a pack of gear (foodstuffs, hunting kits, whetstones and fletching sets - stuff that they wouldn't need until they made landfall) had been propped up against the wall opposite the desk. Their weapons lay on the bed, Jet's swords, and those Smellerbee had procured, glistening in the torchlight.

She pulled up the seat and sat at the metal desk. Holding the tube in one hand, Smellerbee reached for the wax seal with the other, and for the first time realized that her hands were shaking. Well, _yeah_, her entire body felt jumpy and unwieldy, but her hands, her fingers, were being the biggest idiots of the lot. She tried grasping the seal, missed - okay, okay, this wasn't working. It wasn't a big deal. It couldn't be a big deal, right? Right. Calm down, you can open this without your nerves being all shot. She took in a low, long, steadying breath, and steeled herself for what laid inside.

This time, her fingers responded as expected; she pulled free the wax seal and overturned the tube; a rolled up piece of parchment fell loose, bounding against the surface of the desk before rolling to a stop. Her heart still hammered away against her ribcage - it was almost like opening a present at the winter solstice (especially the ones from Longshot or Jet), but on a much more significant scale. She still felt the buzz in her skull, between her ears, as she unfurled the scroll, written in precise, tiny calligraphy characters.

_"Dearest Niece,_

_"You will not believe our luck! You remember on your visit how my family has made use of external heating for the winter seasons? How inefficient that was! We were fortunate enough to run across a family of Earthbenders who were in desperate need of work, and we were only too glad to support them in their time of need. For the proper cost, all you need to do is have them break down the walls one at a time, and then have them reinforce it with a much more insulating type of stone! Of course, the price was so fantastic that we could not refuse; such splendor we shall live in come this winter, it will be almost as grand as living in Ba Sing Se itself! It only cost us two hundred fifty gold pieces, and they were kind enough to do some of the sides of the exterior for half-price! I will regale you with further details when you have returned from your journey at sea._

_"I hope all is well in your travels and that this mail tube reaches you in swift recourse._

_"Love,_

_Uncle Mushi"_

...What the hell...?

Smellerbee squinted at the message before laying it flat on the desk, using her hands to keep it from curling. Her pulse made a quick one-eighty, and she felt a growing feeling of nausea in her gut. Was - was this some kind of joke? The whole "Uncle Mushi" thing betrayed its writer as being the Dragon of the West; did Iroh think this was a good way to get his jollies? If so, he had a sicker sense of humor than Smellerbee had taken him for. She leaned forward over the desk and just sat there for a few minutes, trying to process the information in her head. Come on, what point did this serve? It couldn't be a prank, it...

No, Iroh wasn't that kind of person. He might have mistaken her for a boy, and he might have been a glutton and a tea maniac, but he wasn't the sort of guy who'd offer you food and then spit in the salad. There - there had to be something more, something she was missing. Something clever, and she was supposed to be clever, or else he wouldn't have given her that lotus tile, right? It was all just a game of Pai Sho in the end, and she just had to make the right move...

Swallowing the urge to puke, Smellerbee pushed herself back in the chair and examined the parchment from a distance. It was almost like decoding Freedom Fighter secret code for the first time - they'd invented their own twists on spoken language (including the birdcalls) as to pass messages onto each other without them being discovered and translated by any Fire Nation cronies. Efficient, if you knew where to look for them, and if some nosy person or animal hadn't secreted it away on their own volition.

Turning the paper at an angle, Smellerbee hiked a brow, trying to make sense of the damn thing. Did everything need to be a riddle? Sighing, she flopped backwards and brought the parchment up with her, glaring at it through half-lidded eyes against the lamplight, golden flickers washing through the paper, staining it with brown light, and -

Her eyes widened and she sat upright again, blinking at the parchment as she held it up to the light. Yes - _yes_! There it was, the hidden message, oh, she'd figured it out, she'd figured it out, she _was_ clever after all! (She ignored the fact that it was a fluke for now, she wanted to bask in her glory. She figured she deserved it.) Some of the characters on the scroll, held up to the firelight, had darker boxes of brown around them - unnoticeable when not held up to a light source, like a watermark. Reading the words aloud, Smellerbee pieced the message together.

"...'family has made **use** of...' okay, so, use. Use something. '...a family of **Earthbenders**...' '...need **to **do is have them **break down the walls**...'" Smellerbee thumbed her chin and frowned. "Sorry, Iroh, but I think I know where you're going with this...'**Of** course, the price...' '...grand as living in **Ba Sing Se**...' Okay, yeah. 'Use Earthbenders to break down the walls of Ba Sing Se.'" She heaved a frustrated sigh and shook her head. "Was that all? Iroh, I might be young, but I'm...not...stupid..."

She had turned her gaze away from the paper in her grumblings, but something about the parchment caught her eye; more carefully-inked characters in darkened boxes. Pursing her lips, Smellerbee mumbled, "...'cost us **two** hundred...' '...some of the **sides**...' '...well **in** your travels and this mail **tube**...'" She hiked her eyebrows and murmured a quiet, "Oh." before letting a coy grin split her face. "Iroh, you _are_ a sly dog."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_Five days until Sozin's Comet_

Still the ship swayed, still the ocean's winds tickled her face, her hands. Still the surface glittered against the sun's radiance...and still, Pestle leaned against the metal railing, casting a half-lidded gaze across the roiling waves on which they traveled.

A brief storm over the night had made the deck slick, and the deckhands hadn't yet cleared the excess water off; it was still too early in the morning, and Smellerbee had only just sent one of her crew to relay the message.

Everyone had a job to fill on this ship and none of 'em half-assed their work. Pestle, though...she didn't do anything except stare out at the sea, her face carved out of unforgiving, apathetic stone, her profile dark against the rolling waves. She'd eat on occasion, and even then only sparingly...and watching her only gave Smellerbee the discomforting sensation of regressing to the person the swordswoman used to be. The Earthbender just stood there, hands planted securely on the rails, leaning forward just the slightest bit with one leg kicked behind the other.

Pipsqueak and The Duke had tried talking to her, 'cause they were better at sympathizing - but they'd never really experienced the same thing. This was a matter of empathy. And Longshot...well, that one was pretty self-explanatory.

Standing behind the Earthbender, engulfed in the shadow of the towering command center on the ship's aft, it was time for Smellerbee to step up to the plate. After all, Pestle would have an important role to fill when they got to Ba Sing Se...and Smellerbee absolutely hated seeing another person go through the exact same pain she had when growing up.

Breathing in through her nose, the air warm and refreshing, Smellerbee walked across the deck, fighting off the dry ache behind her eyes. Mornings still bothered her, a _lot_, an' she'd have to put up with waking up early ever since leaving the forest. _Spirits_, it sucked, and Smellerbee'd be so much happier wrapping up in a big ol' blanket and snoozing away the first hours of the day. She'd probably spend it in one of those weird positions Longshot loved so much - face planted down on the pillow, butt up in the air.

The weirdest things about her appealed to him. It didn't make a lick'a sense to her, but then again, that was part of his charm, wasn't it?

Okay. Okay, now wasn't the time to think about sleeping and Longshot (or sleeping _with_ Longshot, don't think of that either). She wore the Leader Pants, after all.

The odor of oil seeped in with the salty ocean breeze as Smellerbee sidled up beside the young Earthbender, folding her arms and leaning on the rail with her elbows. Without looking at the girl, Smellerbee murmured, "Beautiful sight, isn't it?"

"Mmm." Yeah, the swordswoman had expected that; unless being given an order, or making a report, Pestle hadn't spoken to anyone since Pan Xing. Smellerbee couldn't blame her.

"Y'know, I spent most'a my life in the forest...but we all have a Time Before. I don't really make it my business to make it anybody _else's_, but I think in this case, it'll help you out." Smellerbee shifted her weight and cleared her throat. "Before the Freedom Fighters, I was stuck in this awful Fire Nation encampment, forced to mine for coal and precious metals and that sorta stuff." Even though memories _did_ become worn and faded over time, a lot of that place was far too vivid for her; it smelled of singed air from the Firebenders lashing flaming whips over their heads, of dust and stone and chalk and choking. Her fingertips sore to the point of numbness, because they were so _bloody_ from scavenging, even though she used tools like pickaxes to help her. The clothes shaggy and rough and stiff against her skin, stained with dirt and lifeblood that wasn't hers. The starvation worse than anything she'd endured during a bad season in the forest. The - the utter emptiness that followed after she killed that girl, the one whose face always drifted into a murky fog whenever Smellerbee tried to remember it, but, but her mouth stretched into a perfect **O**.

"Mm-hm."

"It was terrible." Smellerbee shook her head, a frown lighting over her face. "You wanna know how I wound up there?"

"Not really," she murmured, but she didn't turn away or leave, and that was good. Smellerbee had her attention at least, so she forged on ahead with her story.

"The Fire Nation killed my family," she said, and - wow, how long had it been since she'd told anyone this story? Probably a day or two after Longshot and Jet and Sneers had found her. "I...don't remember much of it. I was probably four or five at the time. I know I had a mom and I think I had sisters, but if I had a dad...I dunno." She shifted her weight and snorted, her frown turning into a rueful smile. "The thing I remember most was a pet of some kind - either a rabbiroo or a long-eared gerbil. Even then, that's a kinda sooty memory."

"You don't say." Pestle didn't even bother masking disinterest in her voice, and with an internal smirk, Smellerbee saw a hint of Mai riding along in the Earthbender's head.

"But one other memory shines through from that time." Smellerbee leaned a little bit forward over the edge of the railing, trying to distance herself from the odor of acrid oil and burning coal. "Did you know I used to be able to sing?"

Pestle's grip on the railing tightened, locking her into place. From the corner of her eye, Smellerbee saw the Earthbender's head turn to her, but Smellerbee didn't return the look. Let her think that this wasn't a big deal; if Smellerbee tried walking on eggshells, it'd only make the situation worse. Quirking her head to the side and hunching up her shoulders, she fixed the ocean with a faint grin. The flickering reflection of sunlight left blue speckles in her vision, but - she still liked the view, so it didn't matter, really.

"You could?" Pestle asked, her voice quiet - a genuine question, but not out of awe, and that was _perfect_. That was where Smellerbee needed her to be in order to get her to open up. "How come you don't anymore?"

The swordswoman raised one arm up and tapped her throat with her fingers. Closing her eyes (the blue spots still persisted), she said, "With a voice like this? When they set fire to my house, I sucked up a good lungful of smoke trying to escape. I didn't know any better to keep low. That's why I sound like I'm choking on a spider-snake. That...that's the important thing the Fire Nation stole from me." She paused, and let a smile pull up on her lips. "On the bright side, I compensate by playing a mean sungi horn on music night. Almost as good as Pipsqueak plays the triangle."

Pestle snickered, and at last Smellerbee felt the shell the girl had cast around her start to crack. Excellent. "So, you don't know what happened to your family, then?"

"If they survived, then I'll never find 'em to get answers." She shook her head. "The world is a pretty big place. I don't have any clues to go by, no trail to follow. I don't even know my real name. It'd be like chasing down a ghost, you know? I don't really see a point. So far as I'm concerned, I've only had the Freedom Fighters, so I've only _needed_ the Freedom Fighters."

She saw the Earthbender nodding before returning her gaze to the ocean. "I...I felt the same way about Mortar. I mean, the Freedom Fighters, yeah...but Mortar especially."

"Yeah." Smellerbee nodded. "That's what Jet was like for me. He was my older brother. He took care of me and made sure I was safe...well, as safe as it got in our lives."

Pestle nodded, hanging her head a little; this time, Smellerbee _did_ look at her, how her blonde hair ran straight down to her neck before curling upward (still kinda filthy from their time on the road and the battle at Pan Xing; they hadn't had access to a true bath since leaving shore, and could only really rinse off at this point with what little supplies the ship provided). "It didn't matter what happened. Even if we got into arguments, we were always there for each other. We weren't that good at fighting, but we could do it in a pinch...and we both wanted to be architects. It didn't matter that we - " her voice hitched, and Smellerbee felt the all-too-familiar welling behind her eyes, her throat tightening.

The Earthbender squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head in her arms, her back and shoulders shuddering, tiny, muffled sobs radiating out from her small form. Smellerbee felt something deep and painful surging up inside her chest, right below her lungs and rising up...sorrow, the only kind of misery that happened on losing a loved one that had meant the entire world to you.

She'd felt it when Jet died.

She'd felt it when she thought Longshot had died.

It was a familiar sensation, and the empathic nature of this meeting intensified. Smellerbee reached out and rubbed Pestle's back, like Longshot had done a few days ago, the Earthbender's clothes rough and filthy beneath her palm. Now she could _feel_ Pestle's body heaving, and, and yeah, she knew how eager the misery was to reach up from the depths of your abdomen, to rake its razor-sharp claws across your body, to drag you down into the inky-black abyss that it hailed from. It happened too often in their way of life.

"I...oh Spirits, Bee, I miss her so _much_." She sniffled, a deep, haggard sound. "She was - she was everything to me. She helped lead me along, because I'm too weak to find my own way. I'm lost without her, and I'm _not_ strong, I'm _not_ smart, not like she was."

Smellerbee shook her head and patted her shoulder, massaging it, her vision blurring. She blinked it back, though, because - she needed to be _strong_, strong for her, to show Pestle that she wasn't incapable. She shook her head and murmured, "But you _are_, Pestle. You're strong and you're kind and you're brave. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have even been able to get to Pan Xing, let alone win the fight. The road before you may not be obvious, but that's part of growing up...you're never really sure of where you're going. Hell, a lot of adults feel that way, too. We're lucky enough to have a heading."

"But what if I don't want to be a Freedom Fighter forever?" She gulped, her voice wibbling.

"Then that's your choice." Smellerbee tried to keep her tone matter-of-fact, but - wasn't sure if she succeeded, if she even sounded convincing. She hoped so, because she'd already made so much progress, and losing that now wouldn't do Pestle any good. "You might not be able to see the road, but with every decision you make, you forge ahead, and that's the important thing."

She sucked in a deep, cold breath; this would be the hard part of the ordeal, and after a moment's pause, she pushed onward, no other option but to put her thoughts out into the open. "But that doesn't stop me from being concerned about you...I've seen how you reacted to Mai and Chit-sang, how hostile you were. How reckless you've been since we left the forest, always throwing yourself headlong into a fight without any regard for your own safety. How even now you scorn our Fire Nation allies - even ignoring Spatula's curry, which he'd made especially for you. Pestle..you've always been a kind person. Your heart is big and you've always been ready to forgive people's mistakes, but now...you're so full of hate and fury that you remind me of myself when I was your age."

Finally, Pestle jerked away from the rail, reeling back, as if struck; Smellerbee pushed away as well, although not as virulently, facing the Earthbender with a hand planted on her hip, her mouth set into an even line. Pestle's face had flushed bright red, her cheeks soaked wet with tears, and she sneered at Smellerbee, hunching forward with fists clenched and drawn upward. Her brow furrowed and nostrils flared, and...yes, there was that rage, searing hot like an out of control brushfire. It wouldn't hurt Smellerbee. She knew this feeling too, she knew how it felt to be so affronted, like her anger was invalidated.

"What do you mean by _that_?" Pestle growled, her fists shaking. "You mean to say I don't have a right to be mad? The Fire Nation took my _sister_ from me! You have no idea what that's like! How can what I feel be pointless after that?"

Smellerbee's eyes narrowed, and she had to struggle to keep her expression neutral. This wasn't, it _couldn't_ regress into an argument derived from misplaced teen angst. If she turned it into a matter of arrogance, Pestle would only feel like she was being condescended to...the swordswoman would have to tread lightly. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be angry. In your shoes I would feel the exactly the same way. If I ever find the man who killed Jet, I swear to the Spirits that I'll strangle the bastard, nice and slow, and probably with his own intestines. But that's _one man_ out of an entire nation. There's nothing wrong in hating the Overdweller, and if it'd make you feel better, we can dig up his corpse and you can play kickball with his head." The swordswoman shook her head and allowed a small frown to ghost across her lips. "When Jet was in charge, he strung us along; his blind hatred for the Fire Nation was passed down through all of us, whether we felt the need to get back at them or not. And that sort of stuff is what got him killed in the end. It took losing my older brother for me to realize that it isn't the right way to go."

"So? So what?" Pestle demanded, but Smellerbee could already feel the Earthbender's resolve weakening - the swordswoman's words were breaking through, and the Pestle was having trouble defending herself against their piercing accuracy. "Did you ever stop and think that maybe Jet was right? That maybe the Fire Nation _should_ get what they have coming to them?"

Watching this gentle, polite soul turn into such a creature of rage, of passionate hatred, Smellerbee felt like crying all over again, but - no, (keep a strong backbone, don't falter now or she'll think she's right). So, whispering, the swordswoman said, "Yes, I did. And I think he was wrong."

"What?"

"Pestle, there are Fire Nation people out there that I wouldn't hesitate to kill." Smellerbee shook her head again, her hair bouncing against her scalp, fringes dancing into her vision. "Those people are soldiers, people who would just as soon prefer to kill us in the name of the Fire Lord and his cause, blinded by the ambition of furthering their own glory. But Jet's vendetta didn't stop there; it encompassed citizens, innocents, and sympathizers - people who wouldn't take up arms against us. These people aren't our targets."

She shifted her weight, crooking her head to the side and frowning. "I don't want you to be the same person I was because you're better than me. I don't want you to turn into a murderer." It was true, so _true_, and if she could go back in time and impart these words to younger self, she would. "You lead your life the way you want. Along the way, you'll clash with other people and other ideas; it'll hone you, help you shape yourself, to be the person you _are_. Just remember, the world ends with you."

She planted one hand on Pestle's shoulder, and felt the tension drain from the Earthbender's body; at last, she turned away, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Listen..." Smellerbee murmured. "I don't expect you to come to a decision now. Just think about what we've talked about here, okay?"

Pestle nodded, silently - and even though most of her face was obscured, Smellerbee could see that she had started gnawing on her lower lip, that she'd squeezed her eyes shut.

There wasn't anything to be done from this point. Smellerbee breathed a sigh, and - well, it was progress, but now she had to turn her attention to other things.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Eastern Ocean_

_9 days until Sozin's Comet_

Uncovering the second scroll had been tricky, but clever; if this was how Iroh sent out _all_ of his secret messages, nobody would ever be able to catch on.

While she didn't know the specifics of mail tube construction in and out, Smellerbee had dealt enough with the things recently to have gleaned a little knowledge of their production and history. They were made of leather wrapped around carved wood, and commercially so; the economic purpose was to make a commonplace product that could be produced cheaply and distributed almost anywhere. The Fire Nation, of course, had butted in on the Earth Kingdom's market for the things, oftentimes forcing venders out of the area to push their (much more expensive) wares - a simple bullying tactic that had never really sat well with Jet.

The tube that Iroh's messages had come in looked no different from the outside, but - but the wood frame inside the leather did not have a bottom. This wasn't uncommon; it was a product variation, depending on where it had been created. While the outer walls of the wood could be felt from outside the leather, the covering dented inward if Smellerbee poked at it. Again, not uncommon...but given Iroh's second, well-hidden message in the first scroll...

It only took a couple quick knife-strokes for her to find the second opening, set into the wood and inlaid about a half inch deep, a picture of a lotus flower engraved on the inside. There was no obvious way of opening it - not even a crease for a good ole' pry of the knife - but the width of the ring was...well, _perfect_ for the Pai Sho tile Iroh gave her. If two and two didn't equal four, then this world was more ass-backwards than she'd initially figured. She slipped the tile from her pocket and slid it into the ring, and the natural recourse was to twist it - and, lo and behold, it worked, and out had slid the second scroll.

Longshot, standing at Smellerbee's shoulder, took all of this in with cautious silence, doing his best to gauge what came next.

As the swordswoman began to read the new letter, she decided that she liked this one a lot more.

_"'Smellerbee,_

_"'In the short time I have known you, you have shown a remarkable penchant in trust and an awe-inspiring skill both as a warrior and a leader. These traits, combined with your preferred method of work - underground, out of sight - are why I have chosen to initiate you into the Order of the White Lotus._

_"'I am so positive in your character that I know, without doubt, that you have kept the lotus tile I gave you a very closely-guarded secret, even from those nearest to you. I applaud you for your discretion, as the Order prefers to operate behind the veil from which the general public works. There are many rules and guidelines to follow when it comes to retaining the reticence we strive for; however, our lack of time requires me to be concise, and so long as you take the following points to heart, you will be fine._

_"'First, do not hesitate to reveal the secret from others if you feel their lives are in danger without the Order's assistance. This is one of the few exceptions the Order does not frown upon. In all the years I have been a member, Prince Zuko has not known about it until last season, when we needed assistance in boarding the very same ferry upon which our paths first crossed._

_"'Second, even if there is no hazard involved, you are free to tell those you trust most - but __only__ those. It must be an explicit bond that you know cannot be broken. If there is even one hint of doubt in your mind, then it is better to remain silent._

_"'I do not wish to sound strict, but I am sure you understand the circumstances._

_"'My final request is that you spare the time to join the Order's encampment, which you shall find located to the south, between the vast outer wall surrounding the city and the inner wall that confines the lower ring. It is best if your party makes its base to the east or northeast, depending on where you make port. Bring along those you have told, wherein you shall be properly enrolled into the ways of the White Lotus Society. I look forward to our next meeting._

_"'Iroh, Grand Maestro of the Order of White Lotus."_

Longshot fixed her with a dubious stare from the other side of the parchment, his eyebrows curved. He was concerned about the message and its nature, Smellerbee could tell; and why not? He had not met Iroh that second time, and the whole idea of a secret society that operated beneath the boundaries of the four nations was ridiculous, at best. Did she really buy into this?

"I don't have any reason to disbelieve," she replied, beaming - so hard to contain herself! She'd known, she'd _known_ there was something more to that lotus tile, to this mail tube. "I mean...he gave me this Pai Sho tile. It opened the other end of the mail tube like it was a key. If it _is_ a load of bull, it's very elaborate." She held up the tile, its surface glimmering in the torchlight. She could feel Longshot's gaze on her still - felt him trying to solve the puzzle of the lotus piece she gripped between her forefinger and thumb. "Like - if nothing else, this is our chance to really _make_ something of the Freedom Fighters. I know we're gonna be makin' a footnote on history by helping to retake Ba Sing Se, but what are our plans after that?"

Longshot crooked his head to the side and a light frown flittered across his face. She meant, on the off-chance that Aang could beat Fire Lord Ozai and end the war in their favor...?

"Yeah, that." Smellerbee narrowed her eyes and let a heavy breath slide out from between her teeth...but her grin didn't fade. "I'm pretty sure a lot of the people following us under the name 'Freedom Fighter' will want to go their own ways with the war's end. We can go back home, yeah...but with the war over, it's not exactly like we can continue raiding Fire Nation convoys for supplies, or threatening sympathizers that pass through the forest." She set the note down on the mattress beside her and reached out for Longshot, palm up and fingers splayed.

He sighed, smiled, and grasped her hand with his own, intertwining his fingers around hers. She was right, of course. With the war over, there wouldn't be anything for them, would there? He knew there was a reason why she'd taken control of the operation here.

Her grin widened, slicing into her cheeks. "I think this is our answer. Or at least part of it. I'm figuring...we have two options. Either we try to establish the Freedom Fighters as an official branch of the Earth Kingdom military, which could make us stumble headlong into a maze of red tape but provide us with steady support...or we can become mercenaries, which means we get to keep being ourselves with the risk of not having work."

Longshot narrowed his eyes, and, surprisingly, he let a vicious grin split his face, one that reminded Smellerbee disturbingly of her own. He had a brilliant idea brewing in that noggin of his. If the war ends, Aang and his friends will make a lot of enemies, won't they? _And_ if the Avatar's group comes out victorious, there will be a lot of dirty work involved...the kind that political figureheads like the Avatar and those close to him can't be associated with. He was sure that their connections would land some prime work right in their laps, with nice pay attached to it. And if this Order of the White Lotus thing turned out to be real, Smellerbee could use it to further advance the resources the group needed, helping them ascend the ladder of underground operations.

"Oooh, I love it when you use long words like that," she whispered, bunching up her shoulders and suppressing a shiver. "This is perfect! This is beautiful! This is - "

Without warning (but who needed it?), Longshot drew Smellerbee in close, and, and his breath was hot against her face, and his lips were so warm and delicious, and...


	6. Chapter 3, Part 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 3, Part 3: I know gravity ain't an exuse, I just wanna make things a little more smooth**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Ba Sing Se_

_6 hours until Sozin's Comet_

They had made landfall three days ago; had arrived at Ba Sing Se's outer wall yesterday. The trek had been too easy, but the entire world seemed hushed, knowing of the dread that would befall it in a matter of hours. _Hours!_ Not months or weeks or days. No animals had grazed the plains in open sight. No people had stirred in their tiny villages. The sky had blanketed the world with an oppressive gray color that stuttered and strummed and gave off a thick, irrefutible sensation of anticipation. It made Smellerbee jittery. She didn't like it.

They'd left Sneers in charge of the group at the outer wall; he'd asked questions, yeah, but nodded in acceptance when Smellerbee told him that she couldn't divulge any information for her trip. She just needed him to trust her. Their expanded group of Freedom Fighters were growing restless, but Smellerbee felt compelled to follow Iroh's request. If this was the first step towards a greater Freedom Fighters, then let that be the case.

The camp was indeed easy to find; riding Surestance and Fletcher the entire way, she and Longshot had managed to hunt it down in an hour. (It would be a faster trek back, knowing exactly where the Freedom Fighters shacked up.) Tents of varying sizes had been pitched in a small valley, a divot by comparison to its surroundings - but the walls were steep, maybe no wider than fifty yards in diameter. Each tent looked humble, almost ramshackle, made of tanned canvas and clustered so close together as to be almost claustrophobic - like being back in the underbelly of the Fire Nation ship. Smellerbee felt a little let down by the display...she'd expected something a bit, you know, flourished, like that mailing tube Iroh'd used.

A handful of men and women traversed the ground; each one wore long, flowing robes pigmented with light blues and whites, a broad collar spread around their necks that bore a flower petal pattern. None of the robes were identical beyond that, though - each one looked to be tailor-made for the wearer. Impressive. None of 'em looked any younger than the mid-thirties; observing 'em from this distance, Smellerbee couldn't quite shake off the niggling sensation of being green all over again. Like when she'd first gone on missions with Jet and the others. Just an untrained rookie.

Wow. Smellerbee glanced over to Longshot, hiking his eyebrows up, his mouth curled into a tiny, curious frown. These guys didn't mess around, did they?

"It doesn't look like they do, does it?" She gave him a grin, but it faltered; just standing here, now, on the verge of something so important and grand and really still beyond her scope, her stomach began to ache. Her fingers tremored so much that she had to white-knuckle Surestance's reins in a feeble attempt to quell it.

No such luck. She gulped, trying to drown the lump rising up from her belly.

Should they...should they just go in? Longshot looked like he'd caught Smellerbee's case of the jibblies, his face going pale. He licked his lips, which had gone dry. Were they expected? Or would someone attack them, maybe even kill them, 'cause they weren't recognized faces?

"I...don't know." Smellerbee bit her lower lip and let her eyes sweep over the camp again. It's not like they were hiding; she and Longshot stood in plain sight at the edge of the valley/divot/crater/whatever, and even a casual passerby would be able to spot them. That _really_ made her nervous. Oh cripes, she could feel the trembling begin to sneak up her arms...

There are only two ways to resolve this. Suck it up and go down, or wait to be found out. Smellerbee raised her head up to the churning gray sky, whose fringes began to burn with the same color as freshy-spilled blood, a hypnotic mass of danger that spread from one horizon to the next. That was a nice, firm wake-up call: there were priorities to be had. There wasn't much time to dick around.

Looking back down to the encampment, Smellerbee narrowed her eyes and pushed the nerves back as forcibly as she could. Okay. Okay. Time to grab this by the hair and do it.

"Follow me," she murmured, and pulled back on Surestance's reins. He croaked and started over the crest of the valley, tromping down the slope at a casual pace. The rocks and dirt crunched under his massive taloned feet, and Smellerbee bucked in his saddle with each step he took. It didn't take long for the hill to level out, and - and soon enough, Smellerbee, Longshot and their steeds stood right in the center of the camp, casting their gazes left, right...in all directions. If this was a trap, or if anyone here planned on attacking them, they had yet to spring it.

Except...Smellerbee didn't think it _was_ a trap at this point. Longshot had instilled the doubt in her mind, but now it just didn't fit right. This couldn't have been. Those in the blue robes - members of the White Lotus Society - milled about as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and a few even looked to the two Freedom Fighters with kind, inviting smiles. Weird, for an exclusive paramilitary group ready to go to war like this.

What bothered her the most was that there was no sign of Iroh anywhere...and it's not like she could go poking around in the tents to find him. The jitters threatened to rise back up again, but she quashed them down and clenched Surestance's reins again. Glancing around, Smellerbee caught sight of one man - tan-skinned with black hair pulled up into a topknot, face baring a few age lines and a trimmed goatee framing his mouth. He sat on a stone with a glimmering, beautifully-crafted sword laid out on a table in front of him, glistening from the fresh oil he'd applied to the blade.

Okay. A swordsman. One who knew what he was doing. Smellerbee could go with that, it at least gave her some common ground to stand on. She nosed Surestance over in his direction; the man didn't glance upward until they were scant feet apart.

"Um, hi," Smellerbee said, reaching up with one hand and scratching the back of her head. "I'm - well, uh, well - see, I've come here 'cause..."

The man with the sword let a calm grin wash over his face, and he pushed himself upright, planting his hands on his thighs. "You can relax, friend. We knew you were coming."

"Oh," she said, and - and that was all she could come up with, and it sounded so _feeble_. Spirits-awful, especially in the face of the responsibilities she could be taking on. Grow a freakin' _spine_, you're supposed to be the leader of the Freedom Fighters, for Spirits' sake...

"You must be Iroh's initiate, Smellerbee." The man clambered up to his feet and bowed at her. "I am Piandao, a swordmaster of the Fire Nation."

She bowed back as best she could, but she felt herself heaving an awkward laugh at the same time. An image of Spatula in the engine room fluttered across her mind, just behind her eyes – how he stammered and faltered and rubbed the back of his head like a skittish kitten. Spirits, was she really so awful at handling this situation? "You caught me red-handed. I'm, uh, coming on Iroh's behest."

"As he told us." Piandao straightened himself and met Smellerbee's gaze, smiling. "The Grand Lotus has been expecting the two of you."

Smellerbee's eyes widened, and she cast a glance over to Longshot; his face bore an expression of confusion. How the hell did Iroh know that...?

"Well, erm - do you know where we can find him?" She felt heat rushing up to her cheeks, her ears, the blush making her face tingle. She hunched her shoulders out of habit, because seated in Piandao's presence, she felt...inadequate. Small. She hadn't felt that way in years - during simpler times, hair cropped short and still mostly illiterate...

This was the Freedom Fighter's leg up, and here she was, just shy of botching the whole thing.

"He's waiting for you in his tent." Piandao pointed towards the largest of the tents in the camp, not too far away. "I'll be there shortly, but you should go ahead and greet him. He will have much to say."

Smellerbee nodded, her blush still raging and furious and (_oh Spirits_) embarrassing, like a big sign on her face that screamed her inexperience out for all to see. But – well, there had to be _some_ way to salvage the situation, and there was, she knew it already, their common ground, and the Freedom Fighter glanced over to the still-glistening weapon Piandao had been oiling and said, "That's a fantastic sword."

It was true. The blade was a darker metal than what she was used to, although not black; it was a single-hand sword, and it had a small, ovular hand-guard and a short grip laced with green leather. The pommel looked to be a little bigger than the hand-guard, and in its simplicity, she could read the lethality and potential to maim radiating from it, so long as it was wielded by the right person.

Piandao smiled. "You have good taste. That's an unusual pair you carry yourself. Do you mind if I take a look for a moment?"

Smellerbee reached over her shoulder and pulled one of Jet's swords free from its harness. She hadn't let many people touch them since Longshot brought them back to that cave near Lake Laogai. She could count those that had on a single hand: herself, Longshot, Zuko…yeah. One hand, and even then Zuko had only picked them up after knocking the two Freedom Fighters out cold. It hadn't felt right, giving the swords over to anyone else.

Piandao, though…he was different, somehow. Even clenched in her fingers, she could feel the sword's grip quivering, an unspoken protest to being handed, willingly, to a man of Fire Nation blood.

Smellerbee ignored it. Longshot had told her how heavy the swords got when he'd used them against Zuko in Omashu, and it wouldn't surprise her if part of Jet remained with them.

She held the hook-head sword out, crescent-bladed hand-guard pointed up; Piandao eased it from her grasp, his eyes combing gently up and down the blade's curve. The grace with which the hand-guard dipped, sharp and deadly from one point to the next, how the pommel ended with a razor-tipped diamond…technical and hellish all at once. The swordmaster frowned, austere…and Smellerbee finally felt the oppressive ceiling of nerves lift a little bit. Enough for her to function properly, anyhow.

At last, after a few moments, Piandao said (without turning to look at her), "These aren't yours."

"No," she said, because his statement hadn't been accusatory, and lying would be – a tarnishing mark, she felt. "I'm only carrying them in memory."

"I see. Have you mastered them?"

Again, not denunciative, and again, deserving of the truth. "No, and I don't think I ever will." She closed her eyes and shook her head, a small grin lighting on her face. "When the war is over…when the madness calms, I plan to use 'em for a grave. To honor the person whose soul lives on in them." She opened her eyes again and looked to Piandao, and dealing with this man, standing on this shared platform, Smellerbee got the feeling that a lot of the Order members could have this propensity for treating her as a peer. An equal.

Piandao finally brought his attention back up to her, and a smile pulled upward on his face. He held the sword back out to her and said. "You keep them in beautiful shape, Smellerbee. I think their late owner would be proud of you."

"Thanks." The heat returned to her face, but not out of embarrassment this time. She took the sword back and hooked it back into its harness. "When I'm finished with this, I plan on returning to my old style. Swordthievery is the way to go."

Piandao crooked his head to the side and hiked an eyebrow, his smile unfalling. "So you never master a single type of blade, then?"

"Nope." She chuckled and said, "Just keeping things fresh, is all. Every sort of sword bears its own merits. I kinda want to try as many as I can in my time."

"An admirable goal for an admirable style." Piandao straightened himself up again and nodded. "When time permits, I would like to meet with you again. I get the feeling that you and I would also have much to talk about. Come meet me in Shu Jing in the Fire Nation territory when things are a little less hectic. That's where I make my home."

Smellerbee grinned. "You got it."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Talking to Piandao had been the medicine she needed. Smellerbee led Longshot to Iroh's tent and the pair dismounted their steeds, and she faced the tent flap with renewed strength. Glancing over to Longshot, she grinned and said, "Alright. You ready to help me shape the future?"

Longshot nodded, a ghost's smile passing across his face. Yeah. He was. And he couldn't have been happier to be doing it with her, of all people.

The swordswoman reached out and let her fingertips graze across the archer's shoulder, meeting his gaze, before turning and pushing the powder-blue flap open and crossing the threshold inside.

Inside, a faint, orange glow eminated from a pair of oil lamps hung from the top of the tent; in their flickering illumination, Smellerbee noticed how...how _bare_ Iroh kept this place. He had a metal rake suitable for farming in corner and a pile of sleeping mats folded in another, but there were very few things that made it feel personable. It was an economic way of living, she figured; practical, especially since the camp would probably vanish at the war's end.

At the center of it all, on a padded mat with his hands on his thighs, kneeled Iroh himself. The aged Firebender wore his grayed hair into a topknot now, unlike their last encounters, and looked every bit the part of a Fire Nation noble for it. He smiled, face wrinkling with his age lines, a pot of tea boiling over a small flame to his side, as well as three empty, porcelain cups, decorated with the same colors and pattern of the Society. Four more thatched, padded mats had been arranged beside him, two on each side; and before him, two more, undoubtedly for herself and Longshot.

"Ah, Smellerbee, Longshot." Iroh's hazel eyes narrowed with his smile. He gestured to the mats in front of him and said, "Sit, sit. I anticipate an exciting conversation." He reached over to the tea pot and began pouring into the cups, the steaming drinks sloshing as he did.

Smellerbee glanced over to the archer and nodded, before crossing over to one of the mats. She lowered herself into a sitting position, crossing her legs and planting one hand on the fabric tent floor below her. Longshot, always more formal, kneeled as Iroh did, his back straight, his hands on his thighs and his fingers curled inward. The Firebender passed two of the cups to his guests and picked up the third for himself, taking a gentle sip of the tea.

"General Iroh," Smellerbee nodded – and, she wanted to smile, but it didn't fit the mood, did it? So she kept her gaze somber, realistic. She noted, although at a distance, that the tea cup was hot in her hands, that the sweet, steaming scent of jasmine wafted up into her nose. She took an absent sip of the stuff, so hot and burning across her tongue, but it tasted _good_. Iroh could make one helluva cup of tea.

"Please, no formalities." He waved his hand and gave a humble chuckle. "As a general, I am retired. Just 'Iroh' will be fine."

"Okay, I can do that." Smellerbee felt her mouth quirk despite her best efforts, and – okay. Maybe cold sobriety wasn't the way to go, after all. It wasn't her style.

Maybe that was what Iroh had been looking for.

"So, I gotta ask…" the Freedom Fighter leaned backwards, one eyebrow hiked beneath her headband. Her hair danced on either side of her head, the fringe bouncing with each movement. "How did you know I'd bring Longshot with me…?"

"It was a lucky guess," he replied, shrugging and shaking his head. Still, his grin and the glimmer in his eyes were coy, and Smellerbee knew – absolutely and without a doubt – that the two mats had been set out for any reason _but_ what Iroh had said. "Although I am glad to see your mission at Pan Xing Island has been successful, and that you have been reunited."

Longshot nodded. Yeah...they were, too.

Iroh laughed and clapped a hand against his stomach. "Yes, I imagine you would be!"

Longshot's eyes shot up, and he flicked a glance to Smellerbee before turning back to Iroh again. He could understand him?

"With age comes many acquired skills," the General replied, rubbing his free hand against his thigh once more. He held up his tea cup as if giving a toast. Fixing his gaze on Longshot, he said, "While I doubt I understand your words with the same intimacy as your partner, they are still loud and clear to me."

"Heh." Smellerbee smirked. "That's pretty fancy stuff."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." That humble shrug again; Smellerbee wondered how much humility a man of such stature could possibly have. His gaze was quick to sober, though, and he turned to Smellerbee with a frowned partially obscured by his beard. "However, I'm afraid our time is growing short, and I must conclude this meeting promptly. Smellerbee, you have been inducted into one of the most important infrastructures supporting the very world itself; this, of course, spreads to your intentions as the leader of the Freedom Fighters, if I assume correctly."

Smellerbee raised her eyebrows, shocked as Longshot had been at finding out Iroh could understand him with such proficiency. "How do you mean?"

"Well, the answers were obvious, upon some reflection." Iroh bowed his head a little bit, eyes flitting down to the floor. "You are not the kind to simply lie back and rest with the war's conclusion. You will want to do something with the building momentum you carry, and you will plan on superceding your late leader. The most obvious choices to do that are to either become a recognized militia, or to serve as a group of mercenaries…most likely employed into the services of the Avatar and my nephew in their attempts to maintain peace."

"Hahaha!" Smellerbee felt a wild grin peel across her jaw, and she threw her head backwards. "Yeah, you got that one right on the nose. You're pretty astute, old-timer."

"Ah, see, that is what I like to hear." Iroh was beaming - Smellerbee didn't need to be looking at him to know.

What – the accuracy comment, or the nickname? Longshot let a ghosted grin pass his jaw.

"Both, my friend."

Longshot smiled too, and it didn't matter if he couldn't be heard – he laughed alongside her.

At last, the swordswoman pushed herself back up, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. "So you want someone whose eyes and ears are directly tied to both Zuko and Aang's parties as well as the seedy underbelly of the world for the benefit of the Society, right?"

"It is a perilous position, but yes." Iroh furrowed his brow and grinned. "We have many members in many places, but their connections with the world are specialized; we have only had few who can cover as many fronts at one time as you will be able to. The missions you will be hired to perform will put you in hives of villainy and scum, and could very well provide a missing puzzle piece, or unveil a potential threat, that the Order will need to pick up and take care of. We are an organization of philosophy and ideology, and we must treat the upcoming times with delicate hands."

Smellerbee held one hand up, palm upwards. "But I'm still an initiate, in your own words. So my role in the grand scheme of things is just as an informant right now."

Iroh nodded again. "You are the youngest initiate we have had in several generations, but the time could not be more appropriate. I have seen you fight, and I have played one of the best Pai Sho games of my life against you; while we shall not hesitate to call upon you for a more active mission should the need arise, you will primarily occupy an observational role."

"Okay, I can do that." She frowned, letting her hand slide to the ground, and strummed it with her fingers. "Now, my question is, am I still allowed to be the leader of the Freedom Fighters at the same time?"

Wha…? Longshot turned to glance at her, brow furrowed. What did she mean by that? Was she thinking about giving up the role of leader so she could act as a member of the White Lotus Society?

"No – no, that's not it. Sorry." She chuckled and fixed him with a sheepish grin. "My wording was kind of crap there."

"That is alright, I understand what you are saying." Iroh grinned. "You will still maintain your position, yes, and you may handle any jobs assigned to you as you see fit. But you must also be able to discern what is important to the Society and what is not. I doubt you shall have any trouble. You are quite the free-thinker, after all."

Okay, good. Longshot slumped back a little, a relieved grin on his face. The thought of having to answer directly to Sneers unnerved him a bit. Not even a bit, a _lot_. He tossed back the last of his tea like it was strong fire whiskey - maybe in leiu of not having the real thing to calm his nerves.

Smellerbee grinned and fixed him with a sly glance. "You know I'd never do that to you, as tempting as it is."

"Alright, then," Iroh said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "It seems as if our discussion is at an end. Our peers have been waiting outside for some time, and I think now is an appropriate moment to let them in. I shall introduce you to my top four men."

The tent flaps opened again, and both Freedom Fighters twisted to see who marched in: first, the tan-skinned Piandao, who did little to regard them (although Smellerbee doubted it was out of haughtiness, having known his nature even if for such a short time); following him, a man with a white mustache and long, thinning white hair that went down to his shoulders, his face angled with a sloped nose; then, another old man with wild hair and a scar running across his right eye; and lastly, a man much older than all of the others, with a heavily wrinkled face pockmarked with liverspots, his hair shaped like the most spectacularly absurd horseshoe.

That last one looked familiar to Smellerbee, but she couldn't quite place it.

Piandao and the long-haired man kneeled down on Iroh's left; the scarred man likewise folded himself onto one of the mats, while the much older one of the group plopped down almost gracelessly onto the last one, a wide grin on his face. Yeah, definitely familiar. And crazy.

"These men come from all over the world and have done much to aide me," Iroh said, bowing his head slightly at the two Freedom Fighters. Gesturing to Piandao's side, he said, "These are Piandao, the greatest swordmaster of the Fire Nation, and Pakku, a Waterbending master of the North Pole."

Piandao nodded at the Freedom Fighters, but Pakku – he fixed them with a disdainful stare, tilting his head back slightly so as to look at them down his nose. A stark contrast from Piandao's friendly attitude from when Smellerbee had met him, but then again, Piandao had thrown on a mask of indifference himself.

Glancing to his left, Iroh continued with a low, victorious voice. "These are Jeong-Jeong, a close friend of mine from our days in the Fire Nation army, and Bumi, a man off much...eccentricity."

Hearing Bumi's name finally sparked the recognition Smellerbee'd been trying to find; she snapped her fingers, eyes wide and smile broad. She pointed at Bumi and said, "I knew you looked familiar! I saw you in some history scrolls we have back at our hideout. You're the King of Omashu."

Bumi heaved a high, nasal laugh, snorting when he inhaled, and that only made Smellerbee grin much more broadly. His unshielded flattery was almost infectious.

"You're quite the clever girl," Bumi replied, leaning forward, one eye bugging out noticeably, a crooked grin affixed to his face. "Iroh was right. I think I like this one!" He heaved his laugh again, and this time Smellerbee gave into it and laughed as well.

Uh…she ought to pay attention to this. Longshot's fingers ghosted across her arm, drawing her attention. Her laughter died down, and he nodded his head (a motion so minute as to be nearly inscrutable) towards the other assembled members of the Order. Piandao still cast a blasé look up to the corner of the tent, as if unconcerned by the events; Pakku and Jeong-Jeong, however, regarded her with burning glares, the former cranky and the latter disapproving.

"You think this is a joke, child?" Jeong-Jeong rumbled, his voice low and harsh, a thin accent spread over it laced with razors honed sharp from years of use. "You find humor in the massive undertaking you are about to go through?"

Ah. A challenge. Smellerbee furrowed her brow and hung a frown up on her jaw. Let him pretend she had a serious disposition and that he'd hit a nerve. "Funny? Not one bit. This is the greatest opportunity of my life. It benefits my goals, your goals, and betters the life of those closest to me." She leaned forward and finally threw the frown away, allowing a challenging smirk to take its place. "I sure as hell don't take this lightly. But if I go into it without a sense of humor, then I'll go crazy and I won't be able to spot the stuff you need me to find. That doesn't do you any good at all."

Then, to her shock, the answer satisfied Jeong-Jeong, and he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows narrow and a faint smile across his face.

Smellerbee felt a tingle run up and down her spine; the mystery of the other four moving into the tent had vanished, and Smellerbee would be able to do what it took to be recognized, she _knew_ it. All she had to do was get through Pakku and Piandao.

In response to her answer to Jeong-Jeong, Pakku leaned forward, ready to return the volley. "So, then, what do you plan to do once you've become an officially recognized agent for us? Will you actually help us, or do you plan on squandering your connections selfishly? Do you even have the combative skill to back up your claims?"

Smellerbee snorted and curled the fingers of her free hand against into a fist, thumping it against her chest. "If you're questioning how well I fight, I wouldn't mind meeting you outside to show you what a girl is capable of doing. I concede that I might not beat'cha, but that doesn't mean I won't give you hell in the meantime. As for me being responsible – it's like I told Jeong-Jeong. There's too much good that can come for the people I love. I ain't gonna risk them living a better life because I have to take on more work."

Pakku leaned back as well, laying his arms across his lap. He did not smirk like Jeong-Jeong had, but instead wore a (less vicious) frown. He still glared, but not over his nose like he had before; so, surly, yes, but not arrogant. Smellerbee could deal with that. After all, she'd known Sneers for this long, right?

Finally, Piandao turned his gaze away from the tent's walls and Iroh's lack of nick-nacks, meeting Smellerbee's gaze with narrow, piercing intent.

It didn't matter that their conversation in the center of the camp had been enlightening, friendly, and the solution to her jitters; Piandao would be the hardest of them all.

This was a test, after all.

She'd known as soon as Jeong-Jeong had asked his question; and with each one asked, when the answer she had given had been approved, the assessor leaned backwards. Bumi, Jeong-Jeong, Pakku – all three of them. Bumi's question, if he had actually _had_ one, may have had something to do with who he was…but Smellerbee had already answered it before he even had the chance to get situated.

Piandao would be different. She could almost see that fantastic sword of his gleaming in his eyes, and – and she'd have to parry him, dodge, thrust, swipe and make steel kiss flesh when she found his weakness.

Okay, maybe that metaphor was a little over the top.

"Then, Smellerbee," Piandao asked, "you must be wise and masterful of your craft. You must be humble, accepting of your role without being boastful…and most importantly, the limitations set by this war, the artificial borders, must be entirely dissolved from your mind. Have you obtained these things?"

Smellerbee narrowed her eyes and grinned. Leaning even further forward, she met Piandao's gaze directly and answered.

"No."

Piandao smiled, sitting up straight as well as had his peers. "Beautiful. I should have known you'd strike so accurately."

"I haven't gotten over my prejudices," she admitted. "When we spoke before, I openly told you that my skills aren't nearly peaked." She glanced over to Longshot, who wore a proud smile on his face, eyebrows curled down and his eyes – shimmering. Tearful. He'd known it was a test also, and she passed, and it was so _awesome_. Smellerbee still kicked ass, and he would admit to it without hesitation.

Turning her attention back to Piandao, she said, "I gotta give it time. I'm not there yet. But I'm gonna work it out, I'm gonna make the best of me. And I'm going to use all my knowledge – " a glance over to Bumi, " – and style – " and Jeong-Jeong, " – and skill – " and Pakku, " – to make sure it all comes together." Lastly, she let her gaze drift to Iroh, who had been observing the unfolding events with a neutral expression, which now blossomed into one of pride. The same pride he'd radiated before, during, and after their Pai Sho game, the paternal one that bolstered Smellerbee with so much more confidence. "You can be damn certain about that."

"Then, Smellerbee," Iroh said, climbing to his feet. "You have gained our approval. Your humility, your honesty, your courage, and your insistence on remaining who you are with all intents of bettering yourself, mean you have everything an Order member is required to have. But to pass the challenge truly, you must answer one more question."

Smellerbee rose to her feet as well – and the others, Longshot and the White Lotus Society members, followed suit. Iroh turned around and moved to the back end of his tent, each footstep sure and steady – reached down, plucked something up that Smellerbee couldn't quite see. He folded his arms into each other, each hand resting in the opposite sleeve, and turned once more to face her, his gaze once again somber. Approaching the Freedom Fighter (_Longshot stood to the side now, the importance of the moment so thick and permeable as to almost be tangible, and he knew where his place was_), Iroh narrowed his eyes and withdrew from his sleeve a folded, powder-blue robe, holding it out in front of him.

"Smellerbee…do you wish to join the Order of the White Lotus?"

The swordswoman kept her gaze fixed to Iroh's hazel ones. She knew she should feel the shuddering nervousness return – the cold sweat on her back, under her arms – her heart hammering against her ribs – a hyperventilation attack – even an out-of-body experience, as if watching these events from a distance, but...no. Nothing, no panic, no separating of the self. Like Longshot, the pressure, the importance, weighed so heavily in the air that every breath seared, hot and overpowering, in and out, in and out. This was big. This was the start of the future.

And she was here. She knew it. She _knew _it. Her feet did not leave the ground, instead planted firmly against the fabric floor of the tent. Dizziness did not overcome her.

Setting her mouth into a straight line, she nodded.

"Yes, Grand Maestro Iroh. Yes, I do."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Ba Sing Se, Northeast Middle Walls_

_Ten minutes until Sozin's Comet_

The robes fit perfectly, and Smellerbee got the feeling that Iroh knew she'd pass the test and become accepted into their ranks. They hung from her shoulders, almost elegant, but – not girly, not in the least bit, and she didn't feel out of character for wearing it. The fabric felt soft, but the stuff was durable. She pinched a bit of it between both hands and tugged; it stretched, but there wasn't any give, not even the sound of a tear. So aside from the symbolic representation, it served as cloth armor.

A neat little bonus, and one that didn't hamper her fighting style. The front opened down in a v-shape, twin-layered with blue and white with another, darker blue serving as her tunic. The cut went just above her belly button, giving it a look that was unique compared to those of Iroh and the rest.

She liked it.

The sleeves were broad, and the hems came to a stop just below her elbows; perfect for any style of sword fighting. The bottom half of the robes didn't divide into legs, so they weren't really pants, which was also nice, because pant legs could potentially get caught on each other. And the hem for the bottom had been cut about halfway up her shins, which wouldn't impede her movements. While the robes cinched at the waist, there was still enough excess room for her to fit her armor beneath, and then some; hell, it was poofy and actually kinda awesome like that.

The best part of all? The thing opened on the sides, although they folded over as to not constantly flap while she moved. She could strap any swords or knives to her belt as she saw fit and draw them without concern, and move her arms about unhindered.

Although she might bring an over-the-shoulder sheath to any battle that required the robes. She could really do either way, but she had her preferences. This time, she just took the harness she'd been using for Jet's swords and applied it to the outside of the robes, 'cause it'd be a helluva lot easier than fixing the things so they went around her waist. Now _that_ was a true pain in the butt.

The robe hadn't gone unnoticed by her Freedom Fighters, however; when they asked questions about its mysterious origins, Smellerbee just replied that she'd had it all along and had been saving it for a special occasion.

It was half-true, at least.

"Oh wow!" Ty Lee said, leaning in close to Smellerbee and fawning over her. "That dress is beautiful! And poofy. You look great in it!"

Ty Lee wasn't one of the people who asked questions.

"Thanks," Smellerbee replied, giving a proud grin. "I'm glad you like it. These are real important to me."

"Well, I hope they don't get messed up in the fight."

"I'm sure they won't," Mai said, approaching from the side, a bemused smirk on her face. Smellerbee and Longshot turned their attention to her, and she brought one hand up to her mouth, tilting her head to the side. "You wouldn't wear it to battle if you didn't figure. Though I don't think powder blue is your color…you ever think of black?"

"Oh, stop it, Mai." Ty Lee grinned and stuck her tongue out at the taller girl. "You think _everything_ goes well with black. I think she looks just fine."

"Can't argue with that." Pipsqueak walked over to the group, The Duke riding on his shoulders, clinging to the back of the behemoth's head. The smaller Freedom Fighter peered over Pipsqueak's mop of hair, his round eyes partially obscured by the brim of his helmet. "I ain't used to you wearin something so fluffy, though. I'm gonna have to get used to it."

"Yeah, we all will, won't we?"

Oh, crap. Smellerbee fought back a grimace as Sneers sidled up between Ty Lee and Pipsqueak, scrutinizing the swordswoman with narrowed eyes.

Sneers would not only be one of the ones to ask questions, he'd be damn stubborn about it too, and rightfully so. He'd spent the entire trip serving as Smellerbee's second in command, and when they returned to the forest - assuming they survived the coming battle, assuming their original goal to "sort it out when the time comes" still held fast - the two would share a similar/the same responsibility. She really ought to tell him, and doubted that any response she gave would slake his thirst for answers. He'd already been hesitant about letting Smellerbee and Longshot go off unattended so close to the battle's start, to the culmination of their efforts. She certainly planned to tell him everything from top to bottom, but this wasn't the time. Hopefully the jerk would be smart enough to realize that making waves now would be a _bad_ thing.

He let his gaze drift back up to hers, and they glimmered in the enraged skylight overhead. The monk would see through anything she threw at him, but if she gave him the right signs, he'd at least understand that his answers would come in time. So she shrugged, closed her eyes, and said, "Don't worry about it _too_ much, Crankypants. Like I been saying, it's for special occasions only. But if you really want a better look at it, I can show it off when we're _not_ at the doorstep of the largest fight the Freedom Fighters've ever been a part of."

Sneers paused - scowled, yes, but only fleetingly, before throwing up a mask of neutrality and nodding. "Okay, I look forward to it." He turned, walked away – and then, he was gone, vanishing into the crowd of men and women that made up their own miniature army.

An army that shifted and waited and bristled with anticipation. The oppression was like that of Iroh's question to Smellerbee in his tent, but on a much more colossal scale, and the result was a hushed, quivering mass.

"I think you look good in it," Pestle said, squeezing in past Pipsqueak, giving a faint grin. "It's different. Powerful."

Standing just beyond Pestle - Spatula, with a wide grin on his face. "Yeah, no foolin'! I can't place my finger on it, but...well, you rock it hard."

"Thanks." She folded her arms over her chest and drew a deep breath through her nose. "It's time. Let's go rally the troops; the final battle is upon us." She glanced around to the assembled group of Freedom Fighters, both inducted and honorary, meeting their gazes one at a time. She felt her grin widen, cutting her cheeks in two, and it took all her will to not gnash her teeth together. "Let's knock 'em dead, people."


	7. Chapter 4, Part 1

Sozin's Comet had come into sight in the sky overhead, a radiant cone of orange, a flaming teardrop that grew in propensity, nearer, nearer, so big that Smellerbee had trouble actually perceiving how large it actually was. The comet was here, and it scraped the atmosphere with its fury.

The final battle was upon them.

This was it. The crest, the climax right ahead of them, and Smellerbee felt the thrill and bloodlust and electricity rising up inside her, ready to peak, ready for release, and she would, she _would_, she'd inspire and lead and _kill_ those who would defy her.

She worked her way to the head of the crowd, her assembled Freedom Fighters - not Jet's, but _hers_, making way as she passed. Longshot, Pipsqueak, The Duke, Sneers, Spatula, Pestle, Mai and Ty Lee followed in her wake, and nobody cut them off; they knew what ground Smellerbee's personal chosen stood on. She climbed a piece of rubble that had collapsed from the middle walls of Ba Sing Se, clambering up to the highest point before turning to face the assembled throng of people that had committed themselves to her cause.

With the number gathered here, right before her, Smellerbee finally got a proper scope of her followers. The combination of her section of Hong Ye Freedom Fighters, the Black Sun invasion force and the inmates that had chosen to follow her - there had to have been at least a hundred fifty of them, and they looked to _her_ for leadership. To _her_. The jolting lighting thrummed through her veins, and she hunched forward, resting an elbow on her knee. Not yet, not yet, don't give them the hook right away...play up to them. Ease the excitement in slowly.

"Today," she yelled, loud enough so that everyone could hear, "we take part in the most important battle in contemporary history. It's not only a tremendous step as Freedom Fighters, but it will help to determine the outcome of this war. This, my friends, my allies, is our part, our time.

"With the eve upon us, we have to move forward. This is not a question of _if_ we win...it's a matter, a solid _fact_, that we _will_ win. It's an undeniable truth. We'll bring justice to those who have wronged us, to those of the Fire Nation army that still believe in Fire Lord Ozai's cause and seek to cause us pain and take away our loved ones. The notion that the planet is theirs to maim as they see fit is a strong mark of their arrogance, of the _audacity_ they bear, as if they have the birthright to sunder our precious homes!"

A roar surged up through the crowd, one hundred-fifty voices finding her point of view only too true, so _real_. Yes, that's the proper hook, they were on the line now, they were ready to fight!

"We're tired of being oppressed! We're going to prove our might to the Fire Nation!" She pushed back into a standing position, planting her feet far apart, thrusting one fist into the air. "The Avatar is doing his part, and we'll do ours! Today is the day where we take our destinies into our own hands!"

And the Freedom Fighters roared again, this time in approval, yes, the electricity pulsated through her chest, her limbs, most importantly her brain, buzzing but clear, so acute, and there was no doubt in her _mind_, they _would_ win!

Sneers must have picked up on the atmosphere, the aura she cast off, because before Smellerbee could even register the fact that it happened, the monk had stepped forward, punching at the air, his face alight with the same, the same thunder, the same _power_, the rush, the high. The swordswoman felt her ears start to tingle because she knew he wouldn't mess up the moment, and that it would spread, she _knew_ it, and that was the final push they all needed.

"Even on this, the darkest eve we have ever known, we will emerge victorious!" He shouted, his voice strong and concise and energized, full of the lightning she was too familiar with.

And - from her opposite side, Smellerbee caught sight of Pipsqueak moving forward as well, clutching a new log in his hands, which he thumped into the ground. "And even though the odds are against us, we'll show the bastards what we're made of!"

Then, then The Duke took his place beside Pipsqueak, thrusting his pike high up into the air. "Even stuck in the unending loop of karma, we'll punch through the walls of fate and make our own path!"

That wasn't all, because Smellerbee felt - beside her, between herself and Sneers - and, yes, here he came, Longshot stepped forward, his brows furrowed, his mouth pulled into a frown so sharp, unmasked, and he called out up over the crowd, his voice shining and heavy and carrying the weight of the situation with it.

"And though our enemies might boast strength and power, we have the advantage of will and cunning! Our burning blood will cut through them and we shall reclaim the world!"

Smellerbee's grin became even more vicious. Longshot rarely verbalized, which always gave his words a thunderous reality, and hearing him, _here_, _now_, it pushed Smellerbee over the edge. Clenching her teeth so hard that she felt jaw creak, she drew Jet's swords and clashed them together, shooting sparks up into the sky. Her chest thrummed, her pulse felt like a stampeding herd of ostrich horses in her mind, and, and, and, this was _it_, this was the time!

"Freedom Fighters!" She yelled, her throat tight, but voice strong, there, rolling over the crowd, she could see her electricity rebounding through them all, The Boulder, Huu, Hakoda, _all_ of them, energized, thrilled, primed, ready to move, to _fight!_ "Today we take back Ba Sing Se! Today we take back the world! Today we end the war! Today, we show them the might of those willing to fight for their country, their family, and their voices! We are warriors, and let the battle be joined!"

"_**HOO-AH!**_" A howling response, supercharged, _properly-fucking-inspired_, and it was time to bring the walls _down!_

The Earthbenders of the group surged forward, leapt down into crouches, and spread their arms out, splitting the stone walls apart with a thunderous roar. The swordswoman turned, bringing Jet's swords to bare, and led the charge, howling a battle cry up into the air.

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 4, ****Part 1: Do the impossible**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Throat still hurt from shouting - he never _ever_ shouted, not once since joining the Freedom Fighters, not that loud, not with that much passion. Longshot clenched his bow tight in one hand and drew two arrows from over his shoulder, lowering his head so the dust and pebbles raining down from the ruined walls wouldn't get in his eyes. Running, charging, each footstep heavy and solid and sure, he felt each impact jarring up his ankles, his knees, and the flashes of brown, orange, pink in his peripheral vision told him that most of his allies kept pace, and that now things had started, they wouldn't stop until the comet's end.

All around him, the Freedom Fighters hurled their battle cries upward, into the sky, ferocious and roaring and deafening. In the distance - explosions, rocks shattering and crumbling, fire crackling, armor clinking together, the din washing over him like the ocean. He could smell - burning stone, that familiar, toe-curling scent of chalk. Fire scorched the atmosphere, culling the scent of ozone, mingling with burnt wood and - blood? Yes, blood, before the battle had even been under way, people had been murdered in great numbers.

The rainshower of detritus stopped trickling against the brim of his hat, so he looked up again - and there, before him, the lower ring of Ba Sing Se, spanning out and out and out, a massive slum, a place where people without money or power were packed into, gracelessly, almost spitefully. And they were supposed to be proud of the work they did there! Washing dishes until their fingers cracked and dried, shoveling animal shit, earning a pittance, barely enough to afford the house they'd been assigned too.

The familiar sensation of battle-driven frost rose up from his stomach, his chakra signaling to each other, activating in turn to his needs...but even in combat-ready mode, this place unsettled him, brought back too many unpleasant memories and feelings washed in a dull, faint blue.

Had he really tried to _live_ in such a stale, cloying place? It had been only three months since he and Smellerbee had left Ba Sing Se behind them, had lost Jet to that murderer. Yet a lifetime had passed and the man the archer used to be had been satisfied sitting idly by trying to scrape up what pocket change he could afford had vanished.

The rallied Freedom Fighters began to split up, surging through the clustered labyrinth of barely-homes, ramshackle, multi-tiered buildings that crowded together like people packed into a lifeboat. Their goal was to free Ba Sing Se, and any amount of damage they could inflict would be a step closer to that goal. He saw Smellerbee peel away in the corner of his eyes and he skidded across the stone ground to follow suit; more footsteps charged on after them, but he kept his focus ahead, watching, always watching, listening for their enemy - and in the distance he saw bright flares lighting up the sky, incredible flashes, waves of fire as tall as trees surging upward.

They had to be careful. Act quickly, decisively, and never give the Fire Nation the chance to attack, because they'd be _boned_ if they did.

Ahead and to the left hunkered a dilapidated, three-floor apartment with burn scars seared upwards in tight, sloping arcs. The building's construction left several of the support beams between floors like branches from a tree; furthermore, some kind of struggle had taken place nearby, and several of the housing units in this area had been flechetted with stone spikes, great as hand and footholds. Longshot felt his lips quirking. He hunched forward and pulled as much speed from his legs as he could, passing Smellerbee.

The rooftops it was, then. He switched the arrow to his right hand, holding it with his bow, and leapt, grabbing the first stone shard with his left; the world flipped upside-down as he let momentum carry him up, his hair flying with the change of gravity, a rush so long lost yet so familiar surging through him.

He hadn't gotten to fight like this in a long time. So much strategy and motion and free-running had been a part of the Hong Ye style, and though it hadn't been a vital part of their strategy, it made every fight more exhilarating, more _real_, kept them all on their toes. It'd helped him in Pan Xing, and would continue to help them here.

Pushing away from the stone spike, he flipped in the air and landed in a crouch on one of the support beams. He kicked one foot out, spun around so he faced the opposite way, caught a brief glimpse of the branch of Freedom Fighters that had chosen to follow down this path. He leapt away before he really registered them, grabbing onto the nearest stone spike, swinging, spinning around as he peaked, going backwards and thrusting up into the air again. So fast, so _exhilarating_, heart hammering against his ribs, wind cold and unforgiving against his face but that was okay, and he reached the support beam dividing the second and third floors, staying on it for only a half second before pushing away again, flitting like a humming bird, light and agile and swift.

The stone spikes were rough on his bare hands (the bandages he used to cover his palms and fingers lost following his capture by the Rough Rhinos), every time he swung from one he felt as if they would tear the skin, but he'd be fine, he'd be okay, and he kept building momentum until he flew up past the roof. Shifting his body mid-flight, he hand-planted on the slanted tile, rolled, and bounced up to his feet. He could hear Smellerbee landing behind him, her boots connecting with solid, heavy clatters. She'd seen him move - had followed suit. Good. Yeah, this'd be perfect.

He glanced over at his partner, nodded; she nodded back, even-faced, and the pair took off across the rooftop. Did Smellerbee remember the last time they'd done this?

"Heh, yeah." Her gaze flitted to Longshot for a moment before snapping to the fore. "When we were scouting for ostrich horses. Right before we stole Surestance and Fletcher."

It'd been raining at the time.

"And it'd been a _cold_ rain. Like, the worst kind of rain possible. Icky and freezing."

Funny, how different things were now.

"Yeah," she said, before lapsing into silence.

He could feel his pulse thundering in his neck as he re-nocked the arrow, the air hot and heavy and pressing and even though Ba Sing Se left him feeling grubby by general principle, the blue memories got thrust away, the burning, furious red sky barging into his consciousness. Every footstep carried significance, consequence, and there, in the streets, a quartet of Firebender soldiers charging, oblivious to the Freedom Fighters heading their way until it was too late, a stampede, a hoard, and they turned -

With a tight stretching sound, the arms of his bow tightening, so natural, so familiar_,_ his muscles burning, even though he ran as he took aim, he released the arrow. He heard it as it whistled through the air, piercing the armor of one of the soldiers, right above the knee; he yowled, fell over, and the other three realized they had opposition now, seeing the Freedom Fighters surging their way.

They took a V-formation, one in front and two on either side, and one-two punched the air; the fireballs that erupted forth, holy _crap_, enough to fill the street the Freedom Fighters charged through; several dived into nearby alleys, some dove through open doors or windows in the buildings - Firebenders, what few their were, stepped forward and dissipated the fire, before launching a salvo of their own. Two more of the Fire Nation army fell, screaming, their armor glowing bright orange, smoke hissing up into the air. Smellerbee leapt down from the roof, her Lotus robes billowing as the air clawed at it. She tucked her legs in, rolled, and sprang at the last one standing, hooking one of Jet's swords around his upper arm and yanking him hard to the ground. Longshot heard his shoulder popping, the bone in his arm breaking, and pushed away the urge to grimace, because their enemy was more of a threat now than they'd ever been. They had to be disabled in any way possible.

In the middle of the street - two Freedom Fighters, prisoners, laid on their backs, corpses smoldering. Longshot felt his eyes narrow - jaw tighten - couldn't tell who they were, their facial features had been so disfigured. A shard of ice worked its way under the archer's stomach - not five minutes in, and the Freedom Fighters had already suffered fatalities.

They needed to end this battle swiftly.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Oh Spirits oh Spirits oh Spirits oh Spirits oh Spirits this was the _dumbest thing he'd ever done_.

Anyone Spatula was really familiar with had vanished right away, and for somebody so eager to enter the heat of battle, to prove himself, the overwhelming potential of, you know, _dying_ flooded most of his mind and and and he got swept along with the surging Freedom Fighters more than charging by his own will and by the Spirits he felt like he was gonna pee his pants if he didn't turn tail _right now_. This was different from Pan Xing! At Pan Xing, the worst that could have happened was being incapacitated and recaptured by the guards - right?

Maybe! He didn't know! Maybe - oh, he could have been thrown over the wall and into the courtyard, couldn't he? Or - maybe the guards had been given orders to kill, or! Focus! Pan Xing was behind him, Ba Sing Se was _here_ and _now!_

His feet moved along the ground but it felt more like he was floating, flying, Airbender style, his mind buzzing and what the hell had he been thinking going into this? Everyone he recognized - Smellerbee, Longshot, the other members of the Core, Mai and Ty Lee, even the inmates he knew from prison, all _gone_, leaving him with a shuffling mix of strangers, like Tyro's son, a Water Tribe warrior with a burn scar on his left arm, a few inmates he'd never been too close to, some of the new Hong Ye Freedom Fighters that had come after his time, and and and so much going on so many people he didn't know and _he was so dumb and green to be here_.

Couldn't - couldn't feel his fingers, his breath hot and thick and stuffed too hard into his chest, the walls of Ba Sing Se pressing from the left, so many run-down houses crowding to the right, huddled so tightly together like, like, children caught in a kitchen that had been set ablaze by a spark rock accident -

(_remember why you're here_)

- and then, one of the Freedom Fighters shouted, "Fire Nation ahead!" and there was, there _was_, a squad of them, clustered together, six total, three crouched down below three others, standing tall. Both sets slashed their arms horizontally through the air, making twin waves of fire and Spatula, he, he could

(_do something_)

do nothing, his throat caught and he tried to scream but the only thing that came out was a squeak, a puff of air, choked out, pathetic, he was going to die, he was going to _die_ here!

One of the Swampbenders, the, the lanky one, shoved past the rest of the Freedom Fighters and threw both arms upward, thrusting one leg forward, bending at the knee; water sloshed up from a nearby trough, and the fire, great big crescents as bulky as mongoose dragons, the fire and water crashed together, dissipating, leaving nothing but steam, rising, rising

(_pay attention you idiot_)

and that didn't, didn't _stop_ the Firebenders, but this time Tyro's son kicked the ground, a wall of earth erupting from the ground between buildings, and he and two other Earthbenders punched at it, sending the wall skittering through the street, a massive grinding noise that Spatula only perceived through a thick haze, and then the rock shattered, dust, smaller stones, and the Firebenders had mostly vanished beneath the rubble, only a few left standing and

(_you're being a coward do __something_)

Yes. Yes, okay, yeah, do _something_. Spatula took a deep breath and tried to bring himself back to earth. The Freedom Fighters were already moving, sloughing around him, splitting up and down different streets, taking different paths, and, leaving Spatula behind as if he could -

- he could fend for himself.

He _could_. He knew it. He'd done it at Pan Xing, right? He took another breath and closed his eyes, clenching his fists. Grow a spine, grow a spine, you can do it, you've got _power_ now, just not the - the courage. If only he were in the kitchen, then...

...wait.

The kitchen - the only place he ever really felt like himself, ever. He reached down to his sash and drew the spatula tucked into it, the wood smooth beneath his fingers. He didn't _need_ the whole kitchen...just his part in it. Turning, he ran down an alley that nobody had bothered with. That way, if he bumped into any Fire Nation soldiers, he could at least surprise them.

Let the others fight their own battles. He had to fight his.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Hot, so _hot_, but it wasn't anything new. Pipsqueak was used to this, every fight against the Fire Nation got scorching like this, and it wasn't a problem. He'd smack 'em around so hard they'd know who was boss.

Five Fire Nation tanks rumbled down one of the Lower Ring's main streets, onyx-black with spiked, lethal treads that churned up the stone street like it was dirt, leaving massive tracks in their wake. Each one had a Firebender inside, sitting behind a small slit that served as their window and their port of fire. About the only thing Pipsqueak could respect about the things was their strength, trundling and slow but powerful, immune to any kind of attacks that weren't aimed at the windows.

"So, The Duke..." Pipsqueak turned to the younger Freedom Fighter, hunkering down to the behemoth's right. Chit-Sang stood behind the two, the only other one to have followed them this far. The _clank-churn-steam-schkronk_ of the tanks got closer, and they hadn't seen the Freedom Fighters yet, but..."You got an idea?"

The Duke frowned, rapping his knuckles against the ground. He scrutinized (_ooo, another The Duke word_) the tanks with narrowed eyes; Pipsqueak had known him long enough to identify that expression. He had a plan brewing in that noggin of his, and...ah! His eyes lit up, and a slow smile crossed his face. He'd had an...an apostrophe. (He thought that was the word, anyway, but it still didn't sound right.) The Duke jolted a little, and Pipsqueak saw him clench a fist; he reached down t' his belt and pulled from it his exploding' seed pouch, as well as a few other things Pipsqueak didn't recognize - brown sacks tied off tight at the tops.

"Teo gave me some of these." The Duke held up one of the brown sacks and grinned, his round eyes wide and glimmering in the firelight cast off by the Fire Nation. "Stink bombs. The pouches are made of thin material that bursts on contact. It's full of a nice mix of rotten eggs, bad milk, bad sardines and poop."

"Poop? Really?"

The Duke tried to keep a straight face, but the telltale flaring of his nostrils spoke otherwise. "Yeah. Part of the concoction. But you gotta have _real_ good aim and you gotta handle it carefully or else the thing'll explode in your hands. And, well...milk, eggs, sardines and poop."

"Ah. Right." Pipsqueak stood back a little and sighed, shaking his head. "That's not really my thing. Big fingers and logs and all that. I don't have the...um..."

"Finesse." The Duke patted Pipsqueak's hand. "That's alright. I know your limits too. Hey, Chit-Sang!"

The Firebender that The Duke had met on the road stepped forward, his head shaved bald, his lips quivering into something that was just shy of a frown. Pipsqueak didn't know the guy, and it kinda set him on edge, but...The Duke trusted him, right? Besides, he could have jumped ship (literally) after the fight at Pan Xing. The fact that he'd come into this battle at all spoke volumes.

"What is it, The Duke?" Chit-Sang asked, his voice loud enough only to be heard over the churning sound of the tanks. He turned his attention down to the young Freedom Fighter.

"I need a diversion." The Duke stood straight up and pointed at the tanks. The things had drawn too close for Pipsqueak's comfort, it was hard to keep from picking The Duke up and running in the opposite direction. "If you can dash across the street and lob fireballs at the tanks so they follow you, Pipsqueak can hurl me onto the furthest tank, and we'll take care of the rest from there."

Chit-Sang grimaced, grumbling something about being put right in the line of fire, but pushed past the other two Freedom Fighters without question. He drew a deep breath, curled his fingers, and - _pow!_ He was off like a startled deer hare, legs pumping, leather shoes scraping the ground with each step. The Firebender whipped around, threw out his hands - huge balls of fire the size of two Pipsqueaks arced through the air, splashing against the hulls of the tanks, not doing any visible damage. It was _perfect_; the tank gunners turned their attention to the former prisoner, lobbing fire balls at Chit-Sang, leaving them open from the left. This was their chance! He hefted The Duke up over his head and with a grunt, threw the younger Freedom Fighter through the air, aiming for the farthest tank.

Pipsqueak didn't have Longshot's gift for accuracy, but with a big enough target and a close enough range, it wasn't an issue. The tank at the opposite side of the street? Not a problem. The Duke landed in a crouch, rolled, and sprung back up to his feet, scrambling over the rough, jagged metal top of the tank's hull. Right above the window, he hurled in the stink bomb into the opening. A dark green liquid splashed a little onto the tank's hull, but the rest was had hit its mark; Pipsqueak heard, faintly, cries of revulsion emanating from inside.

The Duke hopped over to the next tank, tossed another stink bomb into the window; by now the other tanks realized what was going on, and that was _perfect_. Pipsqueak took his cue, hurdling out from the alley; the tanks had stopped in their tracks to take care of The Duke and Chit-Sang, which made it all that much more easier for the next part.

Pipsqueak lunged out from his cover, taking one, two, three massive steps before hurling himself up into the air. Sure, he might not a been as agile as some Freedom Fighters, but he had power, and he could get air when he needed it. Soon - below him, the nearest tank, just tuck your legs in, wait for it, wait for it, and, and yeah! There it was, a big old black brick beneath him, and he thrust his legs downward, landing hard enough to dent the thick armor, a loud squeal coming from under his feet. The impact jarred him, rattling up his legs, shaking his knees. He crouched down and spread his legs out so he didn't lose his balance; he searched around for the hatch, found it, a round circle big enough for an armored Fire Nation soldier to slide down into. It rose up a bit, a bump against the hull, and Pipsqueak knew from experience that it was locked from the inside.

He also knew he was strong enough to wrench the cover off like it was a piece of cheese on a sandwich. He'd grin under any other circumstances.

Slipping his fingers beneath the hatch's cover, Pipsqueak tightened his grip and hunkered down; with a roar, he heaved upwards, muscles straining - felt his pulse throttle behind his ear, his neck straining under the pressure. Nonetheless, the metal screeched, a loud, twisting squeal, and with a mighty roar he ripped the cover off, hucking it back over his head.

He didn't bother to look inside, 'cause he knew how they worked; two engineers operating the thing in the back, the Firebender in the front. Reaching inside while he still had the element of surprise, he grasped the Firebender by the nape of his neck, hauling him outside of the tank. He tossed the soldier against a nearby house, stone wall tough and unforgiving, he crumpled, fell on his back; dead or not, Pipsqueak didn't know, didn't have time to worry, 'cause he reached in again and grabbed one of the pilots this time, hurling him instead at the next tank over. He crashed against the hull with a tremendous clatter, flesh-on-metal. The tank was disabled, but the rush hadn't finished; Pipsqueak felt power surging through his veins, the last guy in there could still be a threat, so he reached inside, grabbed him, pulled him free. He squirmed, a caught cat-rabbit trying to get away, shouting obscenities, and, and, his knuckles began to crackle with orange tongues, and yeah, he _was_ still a threat, so Pipsqueak hurled the guy straight up into the air. The behemoth Freedom Fighter unsheathed his log, held it ready, waiting for the man to drop - just a matter of timing, waiting, waiting, _NOW_ -

Pipsqueak swung his log, connecting with the Firebender's side, a low, liquidy crunch rising up beneath the rush of battle all around. The man crashed into the hull of the next tank over, crumbling to the ground in a broken heap next to the other engineer. The next tank's hatch opened up, and from inside emerged one of the engineers - but The Duke, he was there before the engineer could do anything! The young Freedom Fighter whipped the engineer in the chin with the but of his pike, sending him toppling back inside. With a twisted grin, The Duke pulled free a stink bomb and hurled it inside before leaping over to Pipsqueak. He landed beside the behemoth, his footsteps a lot lighter than Pipsqueak's had been; the younger Freedom Fighter glanced up and grinned, his helmet skewed to one side. "Nice. Now, let's move on, huh?"

Pipsqueak nodded and beamed in return. He grabbed The Duke and leapt away from the tank; Chit-Sang had gone his own way, but that was alright, 'cause Pipsqueak wanted some quality fight-time with his pal.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Sneers hadn't gotten to unleash aggressively since the Overdweller brought everything down around his head - and even then, he hadn't been in peak form. The Pan Xing break-out needed to be handled with some discretion only because there were so many bodies in such a tight space...and even though his teachings growing up had been those of pacifism and self-realization of the body and spirit, he had already given himself to this war, this battle, at Pipsqueak and The Duke's behest, by Smellerbee's actions, and due to the murder of two children under his care.

There wouldn't be very many chances to go full-bore like this from now on, so all the better to capitalize.

He traveled alone, squat legs carrying him throughout the streets of Ba Sing Se's lower ring, the buildings around him a wreck, completely downtrodden - nothing at all like the stories he'd heard about the place, aside from what Smellerbee recounted. Trashy, a veritable ghetto of filth and scum, innocent people all crammed down here like sardine tunas. The streets weren't inlaid with rubies and sapphires, nor were the buildings Earthbent from precious metals...and while he'd never actually heard the place described like that, the history and geography scrolls still weaved a story of a better place where nothing but potential lay ahead of those living here.

Sneers was used to a haggard, renegade lifestyle, but even out in the wilderness, spending most of his time in Hong Ye Forest, all he could really do was pity those who had come here seeking shelter. What a kick to the junk it'd be, escaping the Fire Nation only to have their very own secret police betray them to their enemy. Ba Sing Se certainly didn't look like it'd been an ideal living place before, but at least it had been safe.

Maybe that's why he wanted to fight with such ferocity.

As his boots cast thunderclaps into the air, he moved as fast as he could; he didn't have Smellerbee's speed or Longshot's agility, but that was okay, he wasn't really about either one of those. His was a technical power; weaker than Pipsqueak, but not as brutish.

Up ahead - Fire Nation soldiers, unleashing horrendous waves of fire at, at _someone_, but Sneers couldn't see who, they were hidden by the corner of some buildings - and if the Fire Nation was after them, then it was definitely someone in need of helping. Sneers altered his course and surged for the nearest one, clenching his fists, his teeth, narrowing his eyes - yeah, this was it, this was it, _let's see you grit those teeth!_ The soldiers didn't realize he was there until he was almost upon them, and that was perfect; he drew one arm back and socked the soldier square in the jaw, bones cracking beneath Sneers' knuckles. The man rocketed off, spiraling through the air, clipping one of his buddies, and by now a few of the others turned their attention to him, fire crackling at their fingertips, ready to strike -

Sneers didn't give them a chance, hurling himself into one of them, shoulder-checking him so hard that he crashed into two more, like dominos. He charged at another one, leaping, grabbing him by the back of his helmet; at the same time, a fireball ripped through the air behind him, the heat searing his back and making his hair billow, but it missed, flashing through the space he'd been occupying only a second ago. Before he could land, he hurled the soldier's down as hard as he could, hearing his helmet ricochet off the ground. The man screamed, a muffled, nasal howl - nobody really understood how disabling and painful a broken nose could be 'til they had one themselves.

Whirling around, Sneers hauled the wailing soldier up by the back of his armor just in time for his pals to unleash a twin wave of fireballs at the monk; the soldier caught the bulk of it, but ow ow ow _ow_ it _burned_ this wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had and he had to leap away because he could get permanently hurt if he kept this up. How could he have been so _dumb_, using a human shield against fireballs bigger than a normal person? His fingers felt tight, swollen, so much pressure in his fists, his forearms, and, and, oh _Spirits_, he'd messed up, he wasn't _supposed_ to drop the ball like this, he was supposed to be a thinker, supposed to be technical, oh by Koh's _eyes_ it _hurt_ and there were still a cluster of soldiers left! Already his head had gone thick with haze, hard to think, senses all muddled, just his heartbeat, the only clear thing, hammering away at the back of his neck, behind his ears. He heard somebody screaming, could have been _him_, could have been, wasn't sure, couldn't tell at all. He stumbled away, clutching his hands into his stomach, but he was exposed, vulnerable, so dumb to be injured this early in the fight, the pain in his arms so severe as to be debilitating, they would _kill_ him here, they _would_ and -

- and, and a slough of ice out of the corner of his eye -

A Waterbender slid on a surging wave of ice; he arced up, around, down between the soldiers and the Freedom Fighter; he rose his arms into a sweeping motion and the trail of ice behind him erupted into a spray of needles, piercing armor and flesh, leaving not one standing. Sneers collapsed backwards against a building, breath heavy, eyes wide, oh Spirits the skin on his hands felt sticky and unnatural and -

The Waterbender leapt off his ice slide and landed in a crouch next to Sneers. He had - tanned skin, white hair around his ears and the back of his head while his scalp had gone bald, a thin white moustache that draped down over his mouth, and...

Robes.

Flowing, blue-white robes, and the flower-patterned collar to match.

Sneers _knew_ Smellerbee had been up to something, and the old Waterbender bearing similar robes only proved it, but the _pain_, he'd worry about it later, his arms -

"Listen to me very carefully," the Waterbender said, leaning close to Sneers and furrowing his brow. The monk tried so hard - his pulse throbbed too much, though, and dizziness set in, he could - shock, yeah, he knew that, that was what was happening now, he was going into shock - "I can't heal you. I don't know healing arts. Some of your friends here - they saw it and they'll take care of you. Just stay where you're put, or else you'll become even more of a liability than you already are."

Y-yeah. That sounded like, like a good idea...he nodded, tried to form the words, but they, they wouldn't come together. He felt his lips moving...

"Th-thanks..."


	8. Chapter 4, Part 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 4, ****Part 2: See the invisible (Raw! Raw! Fight the power)**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Only too much recently did Mai find herself going up against Firebenders. In the back of her mind, it unnerved her; she was actually getting _used_ to this. But there just wasn't any time to sit and think about it, because chaos exploded on all sides and she could only keep up if she focused. Yeah - cool, collected. That's who she was, that's how she operated. If she let herself get caught up in the heat of any battle, she'd lose sight of her goals.

This one wasn't any different. Didn't matter how big a scale it'd been set on. Didn't matter that it meant taking back the Earth Kingdom capital, which she'd helped conquer not a season ago.

Rushing through the streets, her arms stuck out behind her, Mai hunkered forward; got better speed this way, and if she didn't keep moving she'd be a goth-kebab. She wasn't fond of entertaining that notion.

The _clank-clank-clank-clank_ of armor echoed from behind her, thundered from her left; a bright flash of orange, the sudden wave of heat against her side and back, she dropped, rolled forward and to the right, the flame scorching the ground, turning stone black and sooty. She couldn't, _shouldn't_ stop now 'cause that was just inviting trouble, so she kicked back up to her feet, whirled around in midair - saw the downtrodden houses and apartments of the Lower Ring squeezing the streets on both sides, and there, soldiers where she'd heard them; throwing out her wrist, three thin, glimmering knives flew through the air, tinged a sick crimson color matching the sky. Some of the soldiers fell, but not all - even _she_ wasn't good enough to kill more people than she had weapons with which to commit the deed.

That wasn't a problem, normally, but on a day like today, any bit of lag worked against her.

Fortunately, she had some help.

From atop one of the apartments, Ty Lee appeared; she jumped and flipped in mid-air, landing in a crouch between those that remained standing. Quick jabs, almost too fast to see and accompanied by the soft, tender sound of knuckles pounding against flesh; the soldiers crumbled on top of each other, just as more skittered around from a side-street.

Mai growled, biting back the frustration with jaws clenched tight. The comet glared a bright yellow tear-drop just out of the corner of her vision, cutting through the sky, reflecting off the soldiers' armors - most of them wearing those ugly skull face masks, the knife thrower had always _hated_ those because, because they were supposed to be scary but they weren't gothic enough. In this case, it left the most open target (_faces_) harder to hit, but -

She flicked her wrists again and let three flechettes slide down into her palms, the metal warmed from being kept inside her sleeves. Not cold, not unfeeling, an extension of herself and her abilities, she _felt_ it, it had been an aspect of her life for years now, and she would have grinned if she'd had the inclination. Drawing one hand back, she hurled her flechettes in a tight arc, releasing each one independently; they, like the knives, glinted scarlet before connecting with three separate eyeholes on three different soldiers; each one screamed, one clawing at his mask, as if trying to rip it off, and Mai felt a cruel, icicle shard of delight pierce her insides. Yes, yes, battle was familiar ground - maybe she didn't act as manically as Smellerbee, but life would just be so _droll_ without it. She loosened more flechettes into the air, duck and roll and spring away from the surging waves of fire from the left, from in front, knee-jerk reactions to the path Mai and Ty Lee carved, and soon they ran side-by-side, and Mai cast a fleeting glance to her friend, and Ty Lee felt it, returned it, grinned -

- and, okay, maybe Mai _could_ smile every now and then, because the corner of her mouth quirked up without notice and she didn't try to push it back.

Mai turned her attention ahead, and the street gave birth to a plaza of sorts - still narrow by her standards (then again she'd spent so much time growing up in splendor that anything smaller than a courtyard was pretty feeble in comparison), but for Ba Sing Se's lower ring it was an oddity, open space in a sub-city that clustered together as many houses as it could. In the center, a fountain hunkered down against the road - dried up as if fearing the invasion in its own right.

The sound of crackling flames roared from behind them, and Mai dove around a building, taking cover; a whip of fire snapped at the ground hard enough to rupture the stone, a massive, squirming tongue that dissipated after a few seconds. She saw Ty Lee on the opposite side of the plaza's entrance, and - and the two teens met each others' gaze before Ty Lee pointed upward, her mouth set into a frown, her round, happy eyes narrowing, just a bit, like she did whenever she was actually serious about things. If Ty Lee was to be serious about _anything_, this was it.

Ty Lee sprung up, using her acrobatic skill to hop along any outcropping sticking out from the nearby buildings to aid her. Mai snorted; she knew she wasn't as acrobatic as her friend, and it'd be more efficient to take a more direct path upward. So she looked around - so many houses, so _many_ of them, they all probably housed families cowering in fear, a lot of shut doors (and if she broke one to get in the soldiers would follow and probably kill those living inside), and it was so much better to go through a window _anyway_, but she had to fit through it, armor clanking closer, okay, keep going, find the solution, you're calm and collected but you have to _move_!

And - _yes!_ One house with a darkened window big enough for her to clear, and she charged for it, jumped, dove through, landed, rolled, whacked her shin on something hard, ignore it just get up and keep going! She pushed up to her feet, wincing at the stinging sensation (_probably bruised the bone_) and took a quick glance around, trying to find the stairs - and, there, in the corner, a family huddled together, a husband, a wife, two young kids, all dressed in nothing more than rags, four sets of eyes peering out from the crimson-stained darkness, fearful at the stranger who had barged so suddenly into their homes.

They thought she was allied with the Fire Nation; the color of her robes wouldn't do much to sway their opinion, but that was fine, that wasn't her issue. She raised a finger to her lips at the family, crammed so tightly in the corner that Mai was surprised that they didn't sink into the stone itself. They listened - but if it was because they were afraid of her or they knew she was protecting them (probably the former, she still didn't give a crap). That was okay. She really had more important things to worry about, like getting up to the roof - and, there! against the back wall, stairs going up, she leapt over a table and surged towards them, pulling a tight arc around the corner and launching up them, taking two steps at a time. Everything just registered as a blur, but now she didn't really need to be so attentive - just needed to get to the second floor, yes, _there _, she was there already, and find either stairs going up or a window to go out so she could ascend the rest of the way up outside. Quick glance around, okay, so, no stairs upward - that was fine. Mai turned towards the windows, three of them casting crimson light onto the floor and meager, pauper furniture, and, yeah, time to do this.

Mai crossed over to the window, peered outside, down to the street - the Firebenders had paused in front of the fountain, wondering where their prey had vanished to; their attention focused elsewhere. Perfect. Mai might not have had Ty Lee's pension for acrobatics, but from the second floor she ought to make her way up to the top without a problem. The extra floor would just make all the difference.

Grasping the top of the window frame, the granite rough and cold against her fingers and palms, Mai planted a foot against the bottom and heaved herself out, quietly, before whirling and grasping a crossbeam above her. She pulled herself up, planting her feet solidly beneath her; another crossbeam stuck out of the building a few feet away, and beyond that - ahh, that'd be her way up. Part of the building had been damaged, a massive gap in the stone broken out of the corner. The damaged edges had been cleared of any unsightly detritus, and that was just what she needed; it had enough grip and curve that she'd be able to climb up, get to the roof, gain that tactical advantage she needed.

She jumped over to the second crossbeam, then to the gap in the wall; for a second, terror gripped at her, but she quelched it because, you know, her skills were _passable_ at least, if not better, so why be afraid to begin with if she had it under control? Maybe it was just the circumstances. Maybe it was because they _could_ die given what was going on, what the sky gave to those who could Firebend.

She'd taken Firebenders before and this was no different. Amped-up power didn't mean a thing without the skill to back it up, and that's where Mai knew she stood up above the rest. Even though it still unnerved her to be fighting her own nation.

Reaching out with one arm, she grabbed the edge of the gap and swung her body around, the impact jarring her with the sudden halt of her momentum. Planting her feet against the gap, she crouched a little bit, the tails of hair on either side of her head fluttering into sight, still bedraggled without a chance to bathe properly and wash it, or even comb it really. (_Don't even think about how disgusting your body feels, Mai, don't get distracted_.) All she could do now was climb, climb, get to the top and handle things from there.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Okay - okay. Just, just move, just keep going, fight your own battle, stay brave, your courage is _literally_ in the palm of your hand. You can do this. You can do this.

Spatula hunkered down, staying in the shadows of his hideaway, an alley between two apartments; he _knew_ he could make the fire come out now, he'd done it in front of Chit-Sang when the comet got closer, and he'd done it in front of Smellerbee. But - but controlling it that last time had been a fluke! He - he'd been bolstered by knowing he was contributing. He knew he'd be going into this battle anyway, he could fight, but actually being here and _knowing_ he was making his mark on history...

Hiding wouldn't do him much good, would it? The others were out there risking their hides to take Ba Sing Se back, and he ought to be doing his part to make sure the battle turns in their favor. Even if it's not that much, but hey, there was that saying about a single grain of rice, you know? Maybe Spatula _was_ that grain of rice. Maybe he'd - dare he say it - he'd be the one to set things right.

Maybe he'd ascend a little bit. Reach the stars and become something like the Avatar, like he'd figured. The goal didn't seem so unachievable now.

Okay. Okay. Stop being such a wimp, Spatula. He tightened his grip on his signature kitchen utensil and took a deep breath. (_But this was different from putting out a fire in a burning kitchen, that's small-time compared to this!_) There weren't any Firebenders to his right, he had a clear view from this position, but the left remained obscure. He'd have to peek out and make sure. His body froze, even though he knew he _had_ to do it, but somewhere between his brain issuing the command and the rest of him obeying it, the notion fizzled out and died. He took another deep breath, expelled the air, another, another. He could do it. He knew he could.

Right.

After a small hesitation, Spatula peered around the left corner of the alley, only peeking his head out - and, yeah, a trio of soldiers, on their guard, but facing _away_ from him, like they were...defending something, he guessed? But they were in the middle of the road, not near one of the buildings, and nothing important-looking hunkered or loomed or whatever'd nearby.

Maybe it was something in plain sight, and he wasn't paying enough attention. That was alright, he was good to go now, he was focused, even though the thought of taking on three trained Firebenders with a greater level of skill scared the _piss_ outta him. He could do it, though, he had the element of surprise, right? Yeah. That should help him out at least a little bit.

Hunkering over, he crept out into the street, keeping low and making sure each footfall was as silent as he could make it; the rough stone still scraped beneath his feet, but the raging, too-close-for-comfort sound of battle closed in on all sides and masked the sound. He kept moving, slinking into the middle of the street, before standing up; he took one of the stances Chit-Sang had shown him, a basic one with his feet planted apart and his torso sideways. He inhaled, slow, deep - and thrust one palm forward, a fireball surging from his palm -

Any delusions of grandeur he'd had vanished as the fireball careened past the soldiers, exploding against one of the apartments, startling them and nothing more. He shoved his hands forward again, forgetting Chit-Sang's teachings in his desperation, and though he still managed to produce waves and bursts of fire, he couldn't _hit_ his targets, missing, missing, oh Spirits, _this was a mistake!_ All it did was create bright, brilliant orange and red flashes of light in the background! Why did he insist on going for style points? It wasn't practical!

The soldiers knew where he was now, they charged at Spatula with flaming whips in their hands, their armor clattering as they did and, and, and, his legs locked up again, again in fear, but not of self-preservation, that was what he _needed_ right now, oh Spirits, they were gonna _kill_ him, and -

(_don't rely on Chit-Sang's teaching, __**use your own skills**_)

- and, yeah, just like before. He could do it, he could, and he felt himself grinning despite himself because he just wasn't the _angry-yelly-roary_ kinda person to begin with. He might not be a great Firebender - but he knew three tricks that could at least get him through a scrape.

He could deflect fire, he could absorb it and spit it out, and he could hit _really hard_. He remembered back to the attempted, failed escape attempt when Pipsqueak and the rest of the Invasion Force had first arrived at Pan Xing - where he'd protected Longshot even in the heat of battle, covering what the archer couldn't do, and yeah, it didn't matter that he sucked in a fight, he could still use his applicable skill to get out of a pinch. How Longshot had been proud of him then.

Yeah. Stop being a coward, you can _do_ this.

Clenching his fists, Spatula laughed, giddy, a surge of bubbles just rising up inside his chest, making him light-headed, but his feet stuck to the ground, duly anchored in reality, and waited for one of the soldiers to do something -

- and one of them heaved a massive fireball into the air, larger than anything Spatula had absorbed before, bigger than his entire body, but the eclipse made _every_ Firebender's skill stronger, so he would be able to handle it, he _knew_ it, this wouldn't be a problem at all, and the fire ripped through the air so fast, it'd be on him in fractions of a second, but it was just slow-motion to him! He thrust his palms outward, and - yes! The fire crashed against his hands, stalled in the air, and Spatula inhaled, the flame depleting, shrinking, a trail of it corkscrewing into his mouth and nose, and that familiar sensation, not being able to breath, his lungs clogged with smoke, suffocating, insides burning, on fire, overflowing with energy, with power, and, and Chit-Sang had said something about how Firebending comes from the breath and over the searing, burning taste of fire, he felt a drip of irony slide down his throat like a cube of ice because he hadn't even thought to take that literally and

oh

burning

hot

white

here we go again

can't see but

hear them

over there

insides burning

lungs bursting

handle this

you can handle this

_you can __**handle**__ this_

And - the entire fireball had vanished, he felt himself bursting, like he'd swollen out, a caricature of a balloon-man, and - the soldiers were still coming regardless, and, and, just _do_ it, use it as a weapon instead of a defense mechanism -

Opening his mouth again, he leaned forward and spewed the fire, a massive, bright cone, and holy _crap_ it was so big, so wide, bigger than anything he'd ever spat before, definitely not the tight, narrow stream he normally produced, it engulfed all three soldiers, and he heard them screaming, but he couldn't stop, his chest, his stomach, his throat, so _full_, he had to purge the fire from his system or else he'd explode. At last, the rest of the fire parted from his lips, his body free, the pressure relieved, and he stared at his enemies - on fire, writhing, and yeah, they'd die, and - and it was surreal, but his mind buzzed too much to really think about it, that he'd taken lives, spilt blood, the blood of his own people. Intentionally, this time, not like he'd done three years ago at the slave camp, not like Pan Xing where he hadn't killed anybody. This battle was too big, the shock couldn't set in. He stood upright and laughed again, planting a hand on his hip.

"Bring it on!" He cheered, pumping a fist into the air. He turned and charged down the street, clenching his fists. The small victory - it was a rush, it empowered him, and -

"_You idiot, watch out!_"

He whirled around again, a crescent wave of fire cutting the air, heading towards him, one of the burnt soldiers managed to get the strength to attack, a death throe, and, and, wasn't _ready_, too close, couldn't do it -

A wall of earth erupted from the ground in front of him, dark brown, almost black against the crimson sky, and the wave of fire passed by on either side, the wall saving him, keeping him safe. But who had saved him? He cast his gaze around, looking up, left, right - and a small figure hunched on a roof - she leapt down, landing hard on the ground, sending a trail of earth, like a gopher-squirrel tunnel, surging at the last soldier - and then it spiked up, into his chest, and he flopped back, didn't move, and -

Pestle. Spatula backed up from her, eyes wide, clutching his hand to his chest.

Before the trip from Pan Xing to Ba Sing Se hadn't seen her since she was eight or nine. She'd been so - peaceful then. So willing to help. On the boat - once he knew she was there, he asked her if she wanted to take back her role as his kitchen help, like she'd done so many years before, only to snub him and turn away, as if repulsed. He'd wondered what had changed her, because before she would have stammered and blushed and hunched her shoulders up if she'd been offended (intentionally or otherwise). He'd also figured some curry would help bring her around...and it hadn't, she shoved the plate aside and left the table.

As Pestle unfurled to face him, a strange, hateful cold pierced him, her gaze hard and unforgivable; if she wasn't a physical dead ringer for the younger Pestle (same narrow jaw, sloped nose, almond-shaped eyes), then he'd swear she was a completely different person. It'd been hard to place on the ship, as relieved as he'd been to finally be _free_, but now he knew. She hated him. More than that, loathed him - and he couldn't figure out why! It was so permeable that it was like reliving that day in the forest all over again, Smellerbee ready to run him through for saving Jet and Skillet's lives.

"Thanks," he said, keeping his hand over his chest. "I owe you one."

"Piss off." Pestle sneered, and - hearing such anger seeping into her voice, _that_ is what really threw him off his feet. "I only saved your worthless butt 'cuz the others like you like you."

"Well..." Spatula frowned and sighed, shifting his gaze to the ground. The battle still raged on, clashing and violent and heated and furious, all over, and - he had to keep moving even if Pestle didn't like him very much, that wasn't his concern (he remembered her, so bashful, offering to help him cook, with Mortar - where was Mortar? - providing moral support from just outside the room). Glancing back up at her, the smell of burning stone wafting up into his nostrils, he said, "If in the future, you feel less angry at me, just know the courtesy was there - "

Then the stone wall began to glow, a reflection of deadly yellow that shimmered across the surface even though it was rough, and - another soldier, rounded a corner, launching a fireball, too close to absorb or, or, and Pestle froze, stuck to the ground, she'd be as dead as an Airbender, and -

(_return the save you moron, better than saying 'thank you'_)

- roaring, because he couldn't laugh this time, because his life wasn't the only one on the line, Spatula dove in front of Pestle, spreading his arms out - and he felt the fire rush over him, oh _Spirits_ it burned it burned fire literally searing along his body, he pushed some of it back, but a surge more than a true fireball, connected with the soldier, knocked him back, and Spatula screamed, it _hurt_, it wouldn't stop, it _wouldn't_, and he collapsed to the ground...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

The thought of killing a person made The Duke queasy.

Sure, it was something the others could do; Jet had killed out of rage and with the strong desire for vengeance, Smellerbee spilled lifeblood and delighted in it, Longshot and Sneers killed out of necessity, and Pipsqueak...well, The Duke always had the impression that he only killed because he was a strong guy with no understanding on how to hold back. None of the Freedom Fighters had ever forced The Duke's hand, had never driven it into his head that killing was necessary to defeat the enemy - not even Jet, something the young Freedom Fighter chalked up to a subversive desire on the teen's part to preserve as much innocence as he could. Further to point, The Duke had never been in that position, where it was kill or be killed, and he wondered how long it would be before he'd have to...you know...do the deed.

Pipsqueak and the rest always came away so spotless after battles that required killing...well, they made it look that way, anyhow. The Duke knew better. Aside from Smellerbee (and Jet, at the time), the others always had shadows under their eyes after a long battle. Maybe they had all become used to it, but he figured that the gut-wriggling sensation of stealing a man's breath never really went away in the end.

The Duke couldn't shake that susceptibility that, once he killed, he'd transform - become a completely different person, lose himself to some kind of skin-sheering wind. That more than anything unnerved him; he didn't exactly have the best etiquette in the world, but he had his morals, after all...right? Maiming, wounding - that was fine. He could do that. The men that ran afoul of him would live to see the sun rise, and that brought him a bittersweet effulgence; the blood would be spilled, yeah, but that spark of life wouldn't be snuffed out.

He didn't want to be backed into a corner. He - it scared him, and that was an understatement at best.

So, even though he felt confident and grateful to have Pipsqueak back at his side...even though it brought out reserves of bravery he lacked on his own...he couldn't shake the niggling sensation that he might have to make a hard choice before today was through.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

It wasn't a matter of avoiding Firebenders or taking them out in small groups; Smellerbee was fleet footed, agile, and all she really needed was to capitalize on _that_. (Longshot, too - he'd been providing support from the rooftops whenever Smellerbee had to drop down to street level.) Use her litheness and her small size to make her enemies lose sight of her, to turn their attacks on one another.

Smellerbee guessed she'd kind of forgotten about that during her time on the road.

A swarm of Fire Nation soldiers crowded the street, running, trying to get a clear shot at her, lashing out with whips - trying to keep the damage under control, because fireballing in this proximity was so outta the question that even _these_ numbskulls knew not to try it. They'd hit their own men without Smellerbee even trying to dodge. (Of course, that'd make her a toasted Bee sammich, and that wouldn't be good at all, would it?)

The air itself smelled burnt from all the fire being unleashed in the city - not just this battle, the odor permeated too thickly for that, the stench of enflamed stone, the burny-chalky stink, strong enough as to be almost overwhelming. Can't really think about that now, just keep moving, because doing that was a distraction and she needed all her focus on the fight itself.

She didn't remember how it had come to pass, really - this whole fight was just a blur of action and moving and sweat and hot breath - but a large cluster of soldiers, at least ten of them, had managed to converge on her. Mostly grunts, not even the more intimidating skull-plate guys (who were about as intimidating as Spatula had been when she first met him, so that said something about this group), and the only thing that made it interesting was their power. They moved clumsily, they lacked coordination, each attack was hesitant and misdirected.

Perfect.

Before the swordswoman could even reach the group, Longshot loosened an arrow; it caught one of the soldiers in the neck, sending him down with a gurgle, a narrow, tight _thwip!_, and then, nothing. Smellerbee charged at the nearest one; he panicked, his eyes went wide and in a knee-jerk reaction, he thrust his fists forward, a great lance of fire erupting from them. The swordswoman dropped onto her side, let her momentum carry her across the ground, the stone tugging on her White Lotus robes - it slowed her down a bit, but that was alright. She skidded between the soldier's legs and his attack sailed clear over her, crashing into the chest of one of his comrades. Smellerbee heard him scream and the clatter of his armor against the road as she flipped up to her feet again, hooking Jet's swords beneath the soldier's arms. She wrenched him, felt her muscles tighten and jolt with pain (_man_ this would hurt tomorrow), flipping the soldier upward she swung him away, crashing into two more soldiers, collapsing in a heap.

Four down - ah! Two more arrows pierced the air, and two more soldiers fell. Another soldier - not as bright as his comrades - decided enough was enough as he hurled a fireball her way, hot and roiling and holy _shit_ bigger than Pipsqueak! She rolled backwards, the heat tangible, rippling, and she'd be kinda pissed if it singed off any hair (it probably would), but that would be alright, if that was the worst injury she sustained in the battle then she didn't have much to worry about, did she?

She felt her mouth split, the familiar, vicious grin, teeth bared, eyes narrowed; she leapt, the air whistling around her over the bedlam of this raging, desperate battle, wind cold against her face. She brought Jet's swords down, pommel-first, into the face of an onlooking, stupefied soldier, landing on his chest in a crouch. Wrenching the swords free, pommels covered with gore, she lashed out on another one of the bastards with the crescent hand-guard of the left blade, cutting into his hamstrings. He toppled forward, and the rush, the _high_ that had been building finally kicked in, and she charged for another one, flipping the swords around in a fluid motion and impaling the exposed flesh beneath his stomach plating - wouldn't kill him, no, but it'd be debilitating enough for what she need. He staggered back, clutching his gut, and Smellerbee took advantage, spinning around to his backside and grabbing him with the inverted hooks. Another flame lance snapped through the air, and with another muscle-killing whip, she hurled her stunned soldier at it before jumping away.

_Yes._ This was it, this was the battle of all battles! Only seconds had passed since sliding beneath the soldier, and the blur continued to fuzz and scribble, one action after another, breath hot, lungs tight, ribs pounding, muscles aching; it thrilled, it made her heart thunder, and the grin widened even further, cheeks tingling, yes, _yes!_ All that was left was that one soldier, and even though Smellerbee was lost in her bloodlust, she still saw an opportunity that she would be an idiot to pass up. It'd be so delicious. Hunkering down, she fixed her eyes on the last one - the man quaked, his hands frozen at chest level with his elbows crooked, a bastard sword in one hand, and even in the crimson tinge cast by the comet, she saw that the color had drained from his face.

Bringing Jet's swords up to bear, she said, "Boo."

The man screeched, throwing his arms up into the air, his sword flying and clattering against a house on the opposite side of the street; his expression was _priceless_, eyes wide, mouth agape, eyebrows shooting _straight up_ beneath his helmet. He tried to whirl around, stumbled, tripped, fell onto his hands and knees, scrabbled along the ground before pushing up to his feet and hauling ass away like he were being chased by a pissed-off wolverine hare.

Well, that was degrading. Longshot drew another arrow and nocked it, eyes flitting left and right, always turning, always looking for the next enemy.

"It could have been worse," Smellerbee said, fighting back a maniacal grin. "I could've killed him."

There was that saying, though...'death before dishonor.'

"He didn't need it, did he?" Smellerbee popped her neck. "Besides - "

"**Bee!**"

Oh, _shit._

She turned her attention to the sound of her name - between two houses, and, yeah - Pestle dashed out into the street, skidding to a stop with eyes - narrowed? Yeah, but a hint of concern flitted through them, anger and perplexity, a big confusing mess Smellerbee couldn't detangle. This wasn't the first time she'd been locked out of somebody's thought process like this, but it stunk every time it happened. She hurried over to the young Earthbender, keeping low in case some eager Firebender caught sight of her.

The rush throbbed behind her ears, but she got the chilled, uncomfortable feeling that whatever Pestle had called her for would be like jumping into the lake during autumn, water freezing and suffocating.

Boots clomping across the ground, Smellerbee skidded to a halt next to Pestle. She signaled for the Earthbender and Longshot to follow her inside the alley from which she'd emerged; Pestle pushed herself back into the shadows, and the swordswoman saw the Earthbender's eyes glistening with the scarlet of the sky.

"What is it?" Smellerbee asked. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Pestle huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't need to worry about me."

"You're twelve and a novice Earthbender, I think I'm allowed the benefit of a doubt."

"You're fourteen," Pestle shot, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And I've been fighting adults three times my size since I was eight, which is a pretty good counterpoint." Smellerbee harnessed Jet's swords at her hips. "Enough bickering, what do you need? I'm kinda busy."

It was at this point Longshot caught up to them; he dropped down from above, landing in a crouch so silent as to be a whisper, at least in Smellerbee's battle-ravaged ears.

"It's..." Pestle's eyes flitted down to the street for a moment before turning to meet Smellerbee's gaze again. "The idiot. The Firebender. You know."

Spatula? Longshot's eyebrows hiked up beneath his hat. What'd happened?

There it was - the chilling water, dunking her back to reality, tearing her away from the abyssal bloodlust haze that she'd secured herself into.

Pestle paused, frowning, turning sideways so she wouldn't look at the swordswoman. She was being stubborn and this was _not_ the right time for it.

She hated to do it, but if Pestle wouldn't tell her willingly, then Smellerbee'd have to force it out. She shot a hand out and grabbed Pestle by the arm, jerking her close; the Earthbender glowered, her eyes alight with fire, but again - like on the ship between Pan Xing and Ba Sing Se - Smellerbee denied it, because she _knew_ that fire, she thrived on it, and Pestle's defiance, while valid, were _embers_ compared to what the swordswoman could conjure.

"Pestle." Smellerbee grit her teeth. "What. Happened. To. Spatula."

Bee, stop...Longshot rested a hand on the swordswoman's shoulder, but she shrugged him away.

"..." Pestle sneered, muttering, "He got hurt by a Firebender. His elbow is all burned up."

_What..._?

Smellerbee felt her face splitting again, but instead of her fierce grin, it was - a frown, and she felt a growl carving a path out of her throat. "Where is he?"

"Oh, you know. Around."

Before - before the swordswoman realized, she had Pestle pinned down to the wall of one of the houses, eyes wide and her teeth gnashing together. Smellerbee must have - it felt kinda like she'd _shoved_ the Earthbender (probably did), the reverberations still throbbed through her arms and fingers, and, yes, _now_ Pestle's anger had vanished, flickered away by surprise and a hint of fear, and _now_ Smellerbee could dig into her feelings a little bit. A scowl tore down her face and she leaned in close to the Earthbender, noses inches apart, and Smellerbee felt her breath, hot, enraged as the sky above them, brushing back at her off Pestle's face. "Pestle. Tell me where he is."

She opened her mouth - pupils went small with panic - and she squeaked, "But, but I thought you hated him."

Smellerbee snorted. "I may not like him, but I respect him. He's a Freedom Fighter, and Freedom Fighters stick by each other when nobody else will, remember? That's our credo. _Tell me where he is._"

"Th-three blocks to the northeast. In the middle of the road."

"You just _left him there?_" Smellerbee threw herself away from Pestle, and - venom, revile, the dark path Smellerbee had warned the Earthbender about, finally bit down into the swordswoman's flesh. Pestle had called Spatula an idiot; he was, there wasn't any denying it, but he looked like a genius compared to Pestle with this revolting mindset in place. "Show me where he is."

"I just told you - "

"And I don't trust leaving you alone anymore, alright?" Smellerbee turned on a heel, her robes swishing around her. "We have over a dozen Firebenders in our ranks and if you're willing to abandon the one that's a _Freedom Fighter,_ then I'd hate to see you working with someone who _isn't_. Now show me where he is, and if you make me repeat it one more time, I'll drag you by the hair in the general northeast direction until we happen to stumble across him...and Spirits help me, if Spatula is hurt any worse than you say, you'll never be welcome in Hong Ye again."

Longshot, who had been silent for most of the exchange, fixed Smellerbee with a cautious gaze. Look - he'd go scout ahead. Make sure everything was clear.

"Right." Smellerbee nodded. "Go!"

Longshot set his jaw and retreated up to the rooftops once more, disappearing from sight.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Damn.

He should have known better; Pestle was a loose cannon and should have been partnered up with somebody who could have kept a close eye on her. Maybe he should have. He didn't feel any regret, just...annoyed, that he hadn't put enough - or any - thought into it before the battle started. It wasn't like him to slip up like that, but there wasn't any time for beating himself up over it. He could do that later, after the fight for Ba Sing Se ended, after the war came to a close.

Just like the last time he was here - just like that time he'd traveled from Lake Laogai to the Inner Ring of the city, for food and weapons and supplies, sticking to the rooftops was not only much more efficient, allowing him to cut a straight line to where Spatula supposedly laid, it also kept him low-profile. The Fire Nation never checked up in the trees, and judging how none had yet attacked him from the streets before he could get the drop on them, they didn't check rooftops, either. A lot of the fight raged down below, and the soldiers were ignorant of him the whole while.

Keeping calm, allowing your chi to flow freely, that was the most important thing in any large battle, because you needed the endurance to see it through. For him, anyway. The others operated on their own standards.

His heart hammered against his ribcage and his chi flowed slowly, steadily, cast out in sore heat; each footstep fell lightly, as silent as his voice, his stride elegant and long. This _was_ like Hong Ye. His vision shook as he ran, but it didn't drop his acuity. There, the edge of the rooftop just feet away - he crouched down low and prepared to leap away -

- and he pushed off the roof, tucking his legs up, landing on the tile roof of the next house, rolling, springing back up to his feet, stumbling - not as graceful or agile as Smellerbee, but he caught himself, continued moving. Before he could cross the threshold, the familiar sound of claws clattering on stone caught his ears; Longshot turned his attention left, and - Fletcher! Fletcher, hurling herself across the gaps over the alleys and streets as easily as Longshot had been doing, her taloned feet an orange blur as she bounded the archer's way. What the hell - how had she gotten away from the Freedom Fighters waiting outside the walls? They were supposed to be watching the ostrich horses and mongoose dragons, because bringing them into the fray was too risky...

Fletcher landed on the same roof Longshot occupied with a heavy _**thud!**_, slowing down, clopping over to Longshot and whinnying, its great, brown eyes shimmering with red and bright orange light. The ostrich horse's scent - feathers and nature and shit overpowered the reek of burnt ozone, and Longshot felt all the better for it. There was nothing wrong with natury smells so far as he cared; he found the havoc the Fire Nation army brought down upon Ba Sing Se and those willing to defend it more offensive an odor.

And, yeah, things were dire... a lot was on the line...and Fletcher shouldn't _be_ here in the line of fire, she could get hurt...

...But.

Fletcher - like Smellerbee - was Longshot's partner. They'd gotten through a lot of tough scrapes - hell, Fletcher and Surestance had even bested Azula, something not a lot of _humans _could boast about. The two Freedom Fighters had taken their mounts into battle before, so it was silly for either of them to have tried keeping them out of the battle. They were smart, so smart for animals. He and Smellerbee had always figured they were more intelligent than other ostrich horses, that there was something more intricate to how they had met beyond simple happenstance. Something just felt _right_ about the creatures, still did, like they'd been destined to meet, Fate pulling glimmering silk threads together to make the Pai Sho tiles fall into place. It was karma at its finest: hand two Freedom Fighters a raft of shit, but give them a pair of magnificent steeds in return.

(It didn't make up for losing Jet, but Longshot figured most of the rest of their Ba Sing Se-related woes could be made up for by Fletched and Surestance.)

Fletcher was here for a reason, just like every other time Longshot had needed her. And the last time she'd come to him on her own accord...well, again, not many people could say they've beaten Azula without crossing their fingers behind their backs. Looking into Fletcher's eyes...sparkling and large and glistening...a deep, malicious, sorrowful spike pierced Longshot's chest, and his throat tightened, eyes stinging...

He knew. He _knew_. And...in a strange way, Fletcher knew as well. Her nigh-sentience glistened one more time, and Longshot ran a hand across her muzzle, shaking, fingers tightening and threatening to curl into a fist.

It would be the last time they rode together.

They had come full circle, after all; not just himself and Smellerbee, but the entire Freedom Fighters, reunited, brought back to how they _ought_ to have been. Fletcher and Surestance...the archer and the swordswoman had stolen them in this very city, and on this day, the most crucial battle of them all, the ostrich horses would come full circle as well. Fate _had_ brought the animals and the Freedom Fighters together, they had for a reason, to serve a specific purpose...and Longshot's scalp tingled, his ears burned, Fletcher's beak warm and unyielding beneath his fingers. Today she would serve the purpose Fate had called her for.

Taking a deep, hot breath (_so hard to breathe all of a sudden_), Longshot hugged Fletcher around the neck - her down tickling his cheek, his neck, and her odor overpowered him, because natury and stinky and musky, she was _his_ top to bottom, she'd been so loyal and kind, and, and, and...

Fletcher croaked, a sad, comforting sound - as if she were consoling him, telling him that everything would be alright, like a mother to her child, afraid of the booming thunder in a rainstorm. It didn't make him feel any less terrible, but...the city needed to be taken back.

With war came casualties of all kind. And losing a loved one never got any easier no matter how often it happened.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Pipsqueak didn't like the way things were shaping up - too many soldiers, all around, coming fast, from all sides - he didn't have the endurance for this, it was too...too hectic, too much, his mind couldn't, you know, _process_ things this fast. His knees felt weak and his head tingled, brain gettin' fuzzier, harder to concentrate. He had too much on the line to succumb to the exhaustion starting to set in, he had to protect The Duke, had to do his part in the war, had to, had to, had to...

Swatting a soldier away with his log, Pipsqueak grunted, sweat working down his brow, his armpits, and the sticky, awkward sensation only brought him further away from the fight; he felt, uh, drowsy on top of things, on top of the exhaustion, and that wasn't any sort of good _ever_. Just, just keep his stuff in order. That's all he really needed to do. You know. Priorities, yeah. He - he was sure there was some kinda saying that tied into it, but he couldn't really figure it out. Some kinda philosophy thing. The kind Sneers hated him doing 'cause he said Pipsqueak never had the right words. But that didn't matter, did it? Pipsqueak had as much insight to stuff as the monk, stunted vocabulary or not. 'Sides, if he ever needed big words, he could always go to The Duke for help. That was the fun part about it. He had his own way about things. He...

He was rambling inside his own head, wasn't he? An internal monologue gone out of control. Shaking his head, Pipsqueak tried to return his focus to the fight, but his lack of energy stunted him, made him slower and weaker. The air sweltered all around him, plumes of searing heat ripping into his face. Even though he could see The Duke hopping between soldiers on the opposite side of the street, disabling them by either turning their helmets around or slashing their legs with his pike, Pipsqueak just, he couldn't _move_, his legs felt like sludge and his arms felt heavier than the thickest of support beams. Soldiers kept surging at him - and he'd bat them away, one at a time, but he couldn't, you know, _move_ anymore, could barely dodge when a Firebender hurled something his way. He felt his skin roasted - not so much burned as singed. The hair on his arms would probably burn clear off. Needed to be, be careful, to be safe, have to protect The Duke, he's your highest priority, don't let him down don't let him down don't -

Then - then, scorching, razor-sharp pain in his upper arm, skin split, blood spilling, so warm, so sticky, he bellowed and lashed out, backhanding his attacker so hard as to drive him into a series of barrels stacked against the side of some kinda store. He hit one of the bottom ones, shattered it, slumped down - it caused a chain reaction, other barrels above crashing down onto him, spilling out into the street and oh _Spirits_ his arm, they'd, they'd stuck him with - a spear, oh man, that wasn't _good_. He wrenched it free, Spirits it _hurt_, but it, it revived him, refreshed him, woke him up - tightening his grip on his log, Pipsqueak jammed it into the gut of another soldier, grabbing him by the head and throwing him at one of his buddies. Energy surged through him, his chest alight with some kind of, a, a fire, it felt like, but not like these jerks' fire, no, this one helped him, it was - warm, almost, but more than that. Warm was soothing, but he wasn't soothed, he was ready, he -

"**AARGH!**" Another sharp tear, ripping open his flesh, on his back this time - then another - another - what - no -

Roaring, he whirled around and swung his log, three soldiers all in a row, _CLANG CLANG CLANG_, sent toppling like mahjong tiles standing upright in a row, and he felt _alive_ but it _hurt_ and this shouldn't have been the way to keep his mind in the fight!

"Pipsqueak!" He heard The Duke yell, so panicked, so worried, and his back, so heavy, an anvil strapped to it, throwing him off-balance, spears stuck through him like he were a bull lion at one of those idiotic sporting events they held in the south, and - another jab, lower, still in his back, it _hurt_, white filled his vision, he couldn't feel the log anymore, gone, threw it, dropped it, did something with it, not sure - could kinda, kinda hear The Duke, but, so distant, and Pipsqueak lashed out, whiffed, heard armor clanking and clattering around him, and, a screaming line drawn across his belly -

"_PIPSQUEAK! HELP!_"

And - he could, kinda see, not really, a cotton blanket still thrown over his head, The Duke, struggling, caught in the arms of three soldiers - and, grunting, Pipsqueak shoved past the ones in front of him, those that delighted in sticking him, that bull lion in a man's clothes, back, something swinging and swooping and dangling and bobbling his weight shifting, couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but he surged onward, slugged one of the soldiers, then another; his third swing went wild, but The Duke covered him, wriggling free of the soldier's grasp, his helmet slipping from his head, and he grabbed, what, his, his pike, dropped to the ground, picked it up and drove its point _hard_ into the man's ankle, a bat gecko's paralyzing screech torn from his throat, and - and -

"Oh, Pipsqueak, oh man - come on, buddy, I need to get you outta here, you're stuck like a pin cushion, oh spirits, oh spirits..." He felt - kinda - a tiny hand wrapping around his pointer finger, a weak tug - and, and...thundering, rampaging bombs being set off, but, not bombs, not enough heat, reverb, just -

"_Pipsqueak, come on!_" The Duke urged - no, _begged_ - and, and the wool lifted from Pipsqueak's eyes long enough to spot three komodo rhinos, each one with a Fire Nation soldier mounted in the saddles, and, and, The Duke stood beside Pipsqueak, teeth grit, eyes wide, but - Pipsqueak could see how his legs locked, how his hand clenched so tight around his finger as to turn it purple...and, and -

Well. He had to protect The Duke, didn't he? Keep your priorities straight, Pipsqueak.

The giant picked The Duke up and threw him, his shoulders and arm screeching, at a bail of hay in a nearby alley, and, and, couldn't tell if he landed, but the komodo rhinos were on top of him and oh Spirits he was gonna die he was gonna -

He widened his stance and leaned forward, _anything for family_, and threw his arms out, catching the monster at the head of the pack by the horns, long, sharp, narrow, felt the palms of his hands split, and, it didn't matter, one heavyset man stood no chance against a komodo rhino no matter what, and, he felt, he felt the heels of his boots dragging across the ground, the spears in his back jabbing him only so much harder, then the sound of something crunching, breaking, and now the spears didn't hurt as much, and, and...


	9. Chapter 4, Part 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 4, ****Part 3: Touch the untouchable**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Things were getting out of control. Smellerbee felt her gut wriggling, slug-worms crawling up inside her guts, but - she couldn't tell _why_ or how she even knew. Running through the streets with Pestle in the lead, figuring out the specifics would have to wait; Spatula needed her help, that was more important, and maybe finding him would shed some light on the growing, gnawing unrest incubating inside her. Maybe there would be some sort of clarity the bass-ackwards Firebender could present in that convoluted, floundering way of his. Maybe -

Pestle pulled a hard right at an intersecting street, and Smellerbee followed, her feet skidding along the broken, charred stone. She heard loose pebbles skitter away, a quieted hiss just barely under the _clash-fwoosh-yell-kaboom_ raging on around them.

"One more street!" Pestle called back. Even now Smellerbee saw the recalcitrance in her posture, heard it in her voice - the way she shouted only to be heard, not to urge Smellerbee onward. The swordswoman had spent enough of her life reading posture to see Pestle's reluctance; the attitude _needed_ to be fixed if she was willing to feed a guy as kind-hearted as Spatula to the crows. Only when they had the time to sort that sort of thing out, though.

She felt a lot of that going around today. Not enough time, too much that needed to be put off till later, it was annoying, it grated on her nerves because she liked to get things _done_. Lungs hot, stuffed, she crouched down low to gain more speed, legs, knees pumping, burning, and she may not _like_ Spatula that much but she needed to watch over _all_ of her charges, she was the leader, she needed to _act_ like one, and a leader did not treat anyone differently.

The streets were devoid of Firebenders, or any kind of fighting, really - it didn't make sense. It compounded with the weird unrest settling inside of her. She squinted her eyes because, well, she didn't know how else to externalize it; even verbalizing the whole thing would be a giant, cascading cluster of words that didn't add up to anything coherent. She hated that lack of articulation, she'd always been good with words, not as much as The Duke, but she had enough in her to energize the Freedom Fighters like she'd been doing since returning to the forest, right? That had to mean _something_, that -

Pestle lunged onto another street to their left so suddenly that Smellerbee overshot her, corrected, and fell into step behind and to the side of the Earthbender, and -

- and, Spatula was there, yes, elbow shiny and seared red, oozing, but -

- a Fire Nation soldier held him up by the collar of his prison uniform, his other hand clenched into a fist, fire crackling across his gauntlet-covered knuckles, four other (lower-ranked) soldiers flanking him on either side, and -

"Oh, _shit_."

Smellerbee knew that soldier. This day had been about coming full circle, and on a lot of fronts, and - how weird was it that _this_ man would be part of the fight for Ba Sing Se, how he would stumble over Spatula of all people, how Smellerbee would be the one to find both of them...

Gritting her teeth, she skidded to a halt, drew Jet's swords and stood up straight; Pestle, realizing Smellerbee had halted, stopped in place, her gaze shifting from her leader to the man holding Spatula in the air. The soldier, seeing the two Freedom Fighters from his peripheral vision, turned his attention to them - glazing over them at first, but then he focused on Smellerbee, a grin splitting his square, aged face in two. His eyes narrowed beneath his helmet, and with another spike of ice impaling her through her stomach, Smellerbee felt one of those estranged, unspeakable puzzle pieces click into position. It was like - like the Spirit of Fate playing a game of Pai Sho against some unknown opponent. That's what it was like, every move calculated and planned and the end result of the game played out here, in the real world.

"Well, if it isn't the bag of smashed asshole," the soldier said, his voice deep and ragged and like pebbles being trod upon. "It's been a long time. I suppose it's only fitting to cross paths with you and this traitorous piece of shit at the same time."

Pestle turned to Smellerbee, bewilderment dancing behind her eyes. "You two know each other?"

"We've met, yes." Smellerbee scowled, but that didn't stop the familiar, rumbling, tingling sensation of bloodlust start to absorb her once more. Only this time it wouldn't be something to enjoy - this was a bloodlust of necessity, if she didn't kill this man and his subordinates... "Don't mind me if I do away with the formalities, Major Ke."

Ke - the same man that had lead the slave line three years ago. The same man serving as the second in command of Spatula's Fire Army unit at the time. The same man whom Smellerbee had fooled, escaped from, and disarmed - all with a dislocated thumb.

This really _was_ coming full circle.

"Colonel now, actually," Ke responded, the flames dancing across his knuckles flaring. "I managed to gloss over the..._hiccup_ in my military career you and your friend caused. Having friends in the right places - all it took was a drop of sugar here, and a drop of poison there. All it took from there was calling in some favors, and here I am - a Colonel stationed in Ba Sing Se, the fallen Earth Kingdom capital. Now you and I are gonna finish this bag of dicks you opened up three years ago."

"...when you were missing," Pestle murmured, eyes fixated on Smellerbee again. "When Jet got hurt."

"Yeah." Smellerbee felt her shoulders bunch up. The tension rose between herself and Ke, and - and as long as he held Spatula, she couldn't act, because as soon as she moved, he would drive a fireball right into his gut - and it didn't matter if Spatch was a Firebender, he'd be gutted just like Mortar had been, he'd die, and it'd be another important name in her life scribbled out...Jet, Mortar, Spatula. No. There were too many people already, she didn't want to add this kind-hearted, bumbling cook to the list. She _wanted_ to move, to attack, she felt the haze of battle drawing a veil over her eyes, but, but she had to struggle, to keep her feet in place, or else...

And - and, so sudden, so quiet, it was just like _him_, an arrow pierced the air, lodging itself in Ke's forearm; of course Longshot would hit him in the one place that would free Spatula. Smellerbee saw him up on a roof, mounted on Fletcher, bow in one hand, arrow nocked and ready to be fly.

Ke screamed, a ferocious roar hurled up to the sky, and Spatula fell from his grasp, collapsing in a heap on the street. One of Ke's subordinates, a quick thinker, realizing things weren't playing to Ke's favor, his posture changed, fist drawn up over his shoulder, flame crackling on his fist like Ke's, and oh crap oh crap, she started to charge towards them, she wouldn't reach Spatula in time to pull him away, he'd be incinerated and there was nothing she could do!

The soldier punched downward, a scorching ray of flame hurled at the prone Freedom Fighter -

- before it could connect, a wall of earth erupted from the ground, slanted, protecting Spatula, the flame deflected, flaring up into the air. Pestle - what, why would she protect him? She hated him enough to abandon him, to put him in this situation in the first place, stop wondering, Smellerbee, Spatula was safe for now, don't worry about him! She leapt into the air, Jet's swords glimmering with bestial crimson, swinging at Ke, Ke was the important one!

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Pestle heard more than saw the three arrows pierce the air, one for each of Ke's soldiers; that'd disable them, yes, but it wouldn't down them, and Pestle - she knew Longshot and Smellerbee would be occupied with the big bastard, so it was up to her -

She brought her hammers to bear, grit her teeth, and charged at the assembled soldiers. She felt her throat go raw, but the wind howled in her ears, was she screaming? She couldn't tell, all that mattered was - jump - land two yards away from the nearest soldier - launch him, send him up into the air! She slammed one of her hammers into the ground, the street shattering beneath the other two, spreading them apart, separating them from their commander. The first soldier landed in a crumpled heap several houses down, leaving just the two - one of them groaned, stumbling to his feet, an arrow lodged in his side - and then, the ground rough and hot against Pestle's bare feet, she glided across, swung one of the hammers - connected with the soldier's knee, wet, _pop-crunch-snap_ barely audible beneath the din of battle. He yowled, crumbled backwards - and, the last one, the third one, he was down for the count too, blood pooling beneath him, seeping through the chinks of his armor, mouth twisted into a silent, fixed scream.

Good! With them down, Pestle whirled to face Smellerbee and Ke - the two trading blows, Smellerbee ducking as Ke slapped the air, sending out a wave of fire - she rolled, tried to kick him in the knee, but he side-stepped - Longshot, now on ground-level with Fletcher, nocking another arrow - fired - Ke saw it coming, thrust a hand outward, a spray of fire incinerating the arrow mid-flight. Pestle brought both hammers up, and with a roar, slammed them into the ground, the stone rippling as it surged towards the Fire Nation colonel. He stumbled, flailed, lost his balance - Smellerbee lunged, going for the kill with a vicious grin on her face - but! Ke slammed both hands palm-first into the ground, twin jets of fire rocketing him back, up to his feet - he let momentum carry him, flipping backwards onto his hands - pushed off the ground, on his feet again, and, so _close!_ Barely five feet away from Pestle! The Earthbender lashed out with one of her hammers, but - Ke back-handed her across the cheek - hurt, but he hadn't used fire - wasn't any burning sensation - she rolled, landed in a heap, and - hammers! Where were her hammers?

World had gone fuzzy - but she thrust a hand down, into the ground, making a blunt pillar shoot up beneath Ke's left foot, sending him off-balance again. She scrambled back up to her feet just in time to see Smellerbee lunge forward -

"_Longshot!_" she bellowed, not looking back over her shoulder. "Take Spatula, get him somewhere safe!"

You got it! Fletcher skidded to a halt next to the slanted stone where the prone Firebender laid (Pestle refused to call him a Freedom Fighter, no way in hell), and - from the corner of her eye, Pestle saw Longshot dismount, but - crap! Ke had noticed! The soldier roared and hurled a Fireball at Longshot, Fletcher, and Spatula - no! The Earthbender slammed her right foot against the ground, the impact jarring up her leg, and thrust both arms up into the air, making a thick wall of rock erupt from the ground in front of the archer. The fire slammed into the barrier, and Pestle felt it start to crumble - but it held up, just long enough for the archer to hoist Spatula up and over Fletcher's saddle. Longshot would be okay for the time being - Pestle turned her attention back to Ke -

"Pestle, you get out of here, too!" Smellerbee ducked beneath a wave of fire and slashed at Ke, missing his torso by inches, the sword a quicksilver crescent.

"I won't leave you!" Pestle dove for her hammers, laying abandoned in the street - wrapped her hands around the handles, brought them both up, slamming the ground once again. Three chunks of rock erupted in front of her; the Earthbender slammed her hammers into two of them and kicked at the third, colliding with Ke's leg, allowing Smellerbee to get in close enough to tag his cheek with the very edge of Jet's blades. "You need all the help you can get!"

"Then secure a perimeter," the swordswoman grunted, backstepping to avoid a wild, flaming uppercut. "There are more soldiers coming in from behind, and the last thing I need is to be interrupted!"

"But - "

"I can't protect you and fight Ke at the same time!" Smellerbee's voice was terse, rough - rougher than usual. "Go secure the perimeter, _that's an order!_"

Pestle opened her mouth to protest, but it died somewhere between her mind and her mouth - Smellerbee was right, Pestle had been lucky so far, but the Earthbender was just a novice. She'd - she'd be more of a liability, and...dammit!

Muttering a foul curse that would make all but Skillet flinch, with her cheek throbbing and starting to swell, Pestle turned and dashed in the direction she'd come from. The best way to secure a perimeter would be to get up onto the roofs and literally build walls in the alleys and streets to pen the two warriors in...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee, the wind at her face, blowing her hair back, tearing at her robes, landed in front of the colonel, pompous, vicious, vengeful, the impact jarring her ankles, her knees, but that was alright, she swiped at the soldier with one of his swords, intending to hook his ankle and yanking, sending him down onto his back, but Ke, he had the presence of mind to jump back, despite his wound, the arrow still stuck into his arm. Grabbing the shaft, he pulled the arrow free without so much as a flinch, the head stained scarlet with blood, the cloth of his inner arm soaked and darkened, and with his arm free, he reached to his side and drew the sword hanging from his sheath, the sound ringing into the air. Not the same sword Smellerbee had left in the plains where the two had first met - this one looked a lot heavier, a two-hand sword at least, with a spaded tip and a shimmering, glittering blade, made of...gold? Couldn't tell, too much to worry about now, had to end this fight here, now -

Ke swung it horizontally, Smellerbee dropped down into a crouch, and she felt the wind brush against her hair. The swing left him vulnerable, so she rolled backwards, kicking at his legs; she landed a solid blow against his shin, and he stumbled back. Springing back to her feet, she leapt backwards and, and -

A ferocious, wild croak tore the sky from above, and Smellerbee saw the familiar flash of gray-brown from the corner of her eyes; Surestance, so smart, so clever! He bounded from the rooftops, made a hard landing, and Smellerbee could feel the impact through her feet. What the hell was he doing here - ? Well - Longshot had been riding Fletcher, but both Freedom Fighters had left their mounts with the non-combatants, so they must have come at the same time, of their own volition. The beast sprinted for her; Smellerbee shoved all of her questions to the side, crouched down, poised to leap into his saddle. She sprung up before he reached her, sliding one of Jet's swords into her left hand, grabbing onto Surestance's saddle horn with the other, swinging one leg up, over - _yes!_ Rumbling, bouncing, heaving, grunting, she landed hard on Surestance's saddle, slinking her hand from the horn to the reins, sheathing one of Jet's swords at her hip. Robes billowing in the wind, Smellerbee steered the galloping ostrich horse around.

A blazing trail of fire cut past Surestance, the ostrich horse juking at the last second, the heat singing Smellerbee's hands and face and hair. Ke! The soldier had taken advantage of Smellerbee's momentary vulnerability. The man was good - he'd managed to hold his own against the combined efforts of the swordswoman and Pestle. He was potentially good enough to be a Firebending master.

Hopefully he wasn't.

Smellerbee leaned over Surestance's saddle, snapping his reins, yelling a sharp "YAH!" at the beast's ears; he sped up, Smellerbee bouncing and rumbling in the saddle, every step threatening to throw her off, but she held tight, squeezed her legs around his flank, white-knuckled the reins, letting go now would be a mistake. There was just too much going on, but Smellerbee wasn't overwhelmed just yet - her drive, her _passion_ to steal the lives of her enemies had never let her down when she threw herself to it, and this wasn't an exception, she swerved to the right, almost directly pressed against a row of houses, and Surestance took his cue, leaping onto the wall and hurtling across the vertical surface, and even though gravity pulled Smellerbee down, she didn't yield to it, just like in Pan Xing, she brought Jet's sword to bear, her vision rumbling with each heavy, thunderous step Surestance took.

Ke - he was smart, he rolled to the side as the swordswoman on her ostrich horse surged towards him, getting behind the two. Smellerbee tugged at Surestance's reins again, and the ostrich horse pushed away from the wall, landed in a run, arced around in the street and turning back in Ke's direction; the Firebending colonel kept his mouth in a tight frown, sword in one hand, the other alight with licking tongues of flame. The Freedom Fighter's body, knees, jolted with every stride Surestance took, but Smellerbee had been riding him for three months, she was used to it, it brought yet more weight to the situation at hand, it would, it _would_ be what ended Ke's life, one good shot was all she needed, and as Ke and Surestance closed the distance between them, Smellerbee flicked Jet's sword and ground her teeth together. This would be it.

The air - still charred. The wind - still baring the sounds of echoing chaos, death, and rage. And ahead, _ahead_, one of the men holding these worthless scumbag troops together, ripe for slaughtering, it was his time to go and her time to free the city! She pushed herself up from Surestance's saddle and readied her strike - one single blow, he'd swing at her, she'd duck down, he would miss because his sword was heavy, too heavy for him to handle really, he'd underestimate his strength and whiff, the backdraft would wash over Smellerbee's hair and face, ruffling Surestance's dander, and she'd drive the hook's point into his neck, right into his throat, the momentum tearing out his esophagus, it would kill him, it would, not even seconds away -

- Ke swung, like Smellerbee predicted, she leaned away to avoid the blow, but - but- _but!_

He swung low.

_Low._

Not in an upward arc, like she'd figured.

Ke hadn't even been _aiming_ for her.

Surestance screeched as Ke's blade drove into his flank, and Smellerbee felt her precious, precious ostrich horse jolt beneath her, almost bucking her off, and the momentum that _should_ have been deadly to Ke now worked against them, against _Surestance_, the sword digging a deep rut in the creature's side, and, and, causing him to spin because he must have - must have been caught, something inside must have _caught_ on Ke's sword, he couldn't go straight anymore, didn't have the power, seeping from his body, lifeblood, dark crimson, almost black, staining his feathers and coarse fur, and, Smellerbee heard the sound of bones snapping, organs squelching as they were torn from their proper places, and, and, and, finally the sword came free, Surestance stumbled forward a few more steps before collapsing, the impact low and heavy and enough to throw Smellerbee off, and, and she rolled against the cool stone, landing in a heap, stomach-down, wind torn from her lungs, Jet's sword skittering away with a low, clattering noise. Oh Spirits, no - _no!_ Not Surestance, not, he was so smart, so graceful, so _much_ to her, he'd carried her all the way around the world, from Ba Sing Se and back, and, and he kicked, feeble, so, so weak, it wasn't _like_ him to be weak. He threw his head back, gave a low, stuttering croak, and - and he looked at Smellerbee, his big, brown, glistening eyes, and - and. She saw it, even from yards away - a soul, lurking just behind her steed, her _friend_, Smellerbee'd always suspected it, she _and_ Longshot with both ostrich horses, but here it was, laid to bare at last, like he - like...

...like he knew he was going to die.

No regular animal could perceive their own mortality like that. Especially not an ostrich horse, an herbivore, mostly feeding on seeds, not a carnal bone in the poor thing's body.

He'd always been smart. That's why - that's why he'd shown up here, right? Instead of staying with the non-combatants.

Maybe that slash from Ke's sword would have meant Smellerbee's death if Surestance hadn't come. Maybe he'd known _that_, too.

Chest aching, Smellerbee tried to draw breath, tried to - but - so sore, stunned, all she could manage was a horrid croaking sound, not at all like Surestance's, this one was deep and ugly and graceless, and -

- and Ke. He, that bastard, he sauntered towards Surestance, laid out on the ground, soaked in his own blood, and - and only now did Smellerbee spot glistening entrails torn from him, shimmering and pink and they should be _inside_ not - not -

"You know what? I could never stand ostrich horses." Ke sneered; with a sudden, whipping motion, almost too fast to follow, he lashed out with a boot that connected with Surestance's head, making the creature bellow in pain. Smellerbee felt, felt herself ready to overflow - like when Longshot had been captured by the Rough Rhinos, just a pot of water broiling and seething and ready to burst, tumbling right down into the razor-sharp abyss into which Smellerbee had thrown herself. She pushed up to her knees, wincing and clutching her ribs with one arm (_get up, get __up__, do something, you can still salvage this, can still save Surestance!_). "They don't have the grace of a mongoose dragon, or the power of a komodo rhino. They stink to high heaven, like musk, shit and piss all in one. I guess it makes sense: a savage beast for a savage race." Another sharp kick, and Smellerbee heard the heel of his boot connect with Surestance's beak - a sharp crack split the air, and - and part of his beak shattered, brown-orange shrapnel erupting upward before pittering to the ground. Surestance screeched again, but the sound was - was, reedy, not strong at all, and he again kicked his legs, trying to stand up, trying, but he didn't, _couldn't_ -

"Ah well. Your'e all just cannon fodder to me." Ke glanced up at Smellerbee, a cruel smirk playing across his face.

And, sheathing his sword, Ke drew both fists back - knuckles shimmering with bright orange flame - and, and, _move, move_, but her body wouldn't listen, she stumbled to her feet but she couldn't stay balanced, and -

Ke thrust his hands down

a bright, white heat washed over Smellerbee

she turned her head away and covered her eyes

and

and

and the flare vanished, and

Smellerbee didn't want to look. Maybe if she kept her gaze away, Surestance would still be there; he could be alive, and healthy, like this was just a nightmare, that he hadn't been eviscerated, that she would be able to ride with him for as long as time would allow. That Ke's show had been nothing but special effects. That...

No.

That wasn't how the Freedom Fighters operated. Jet might have lived a life of hatred so strong as to border on denial...but Smellerbee couldn't afford it. She turned her attention back to Ke -

Nothing.

Nothing but ash. No body, no skeleton. A wonderful, beautiful, intelligent creature - gone, erased from this world, snuffed out, another Freedom Fighter lost, another victim to this bloody, obscene war.

Smellerbee felt her wind coming back to her, but only distantly. It - it didn't matter, she was boiling over, she knew it, the pot drawn into the abyss with her, it overflowed, churning, frothing, _raging_, and suddenly, there, there - _yes_, her pulse thundered in her ears, her muscles drew so tight against her bones that she felt strong, more powerful than even Pipsqueak; her fists clenched, unclenched without her willing it, the war around her ceased to be, it was gone, a trifle matter, a dull, murmuring whisper to the animalistic fury, this private battle, and, and Surestance _gone_, just _gone_, Smellerbee felt her eyes stinging, her mouth torn into a sharp, crescent frown, and through a haze, she felt something old, something _true_ float up to the surface, to keep her focused, to put a target onto her rage, to allow the battle to play out the way it should.

Crimson-Faced Smellerbee reached for the dagger sheathed at the small of her back, clenching it so tight that the leather squealed under her grip. This wasn't the time to rely on the blades she'd carried in his honor, it wasn't Jet's fight, it was _hers_, she'd show Ke what it meant to fight on _her_ grounds. Pulling the dagger free, she saw its serrated blade cut a hole into the scarlet sky overhead, the golden sphere of Sozin's Comet reflected, it would leave soon, she only had a few minutes at best, but she wanted to kill him _now_, at his peak, just to show him how feeble he truly was.

"Just to give you fair warning," she rumbled, crouching and scowling, "you're a dead man."

He clenched his fists and clashed his greaves together, a spray of brilliant sparks flaring up between them. He grinned and said, "Let's see you try, kid."


	10. Chapter 4, Part 4

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 4, ****Part 4: Break the unbreakable (Raw! Raw! Fight the power!)**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee charged, felt more than heard the feral scream ripping through her throat, arcing, coming up from Ke's left, each step thundering, impacting her knees, her ankles, but that brought reality to the moment, the wind sheering her face, blowing her hair back. Ke swung around and hurled a fireball at her; Smellerbee juked at the last moment, dodging around his attack, coming at him from the right instead, surprise flickering across the man's face for just a moment before vanishing into that pompous smirk of his, hiding it, cocky, arrogant, she'd _show_ him how well that fared in battle -

Finally, close enough to hit him, he lashed out instinctively, a wave of fire erupting from his fingertips, duck, avoid it, she dropped down, sliding along the stone, legs-first, between his feet, she slashed upwards, aiming for the manhood, he _deserved_ it, she rarely did that because why torment someone when you could go right for the kill, but this wasn't just any fight, she had a vendetta, he deserved any demeaning she could dole out -

Ke swiveled, avoiding Smellerbee's blade, the tip nicking a plate of armor on his inner thigh, and, and a sharp, driving pain in her side, his boot driven into her ribs, she skidded to a stop just past him, the ground cold to her back. She saw the Firebender whirl around, one foot raised up, alight with flame; Smellerbee rolled over, avoided him as his heel slammed down into the street, fire spewing upwards.

Smellerbee bounded up to a crouching position, capturing, utilizing the pain in her ribs, dulled as it was, to feed her rage, to add to her _own_ fire. Snarling, she hurdled forward, arms spread, tackling Ke down to the ground, his armor clattering to the street with a loud, metallic clang. She pushed away from him, backflipping to her feet, inverting the dagger in her hand, slamming it down; Ke kicked back against the street, sliding out of the way, and Smellerbee stumbled, dropping the dagger before she drove it into the rock, she'd destroy it and it'd been a gift from Longshot, and, and -

Crouching, sweeping the weapon up in one fluid, clean motion, Smellerbee side-stepped, but Ke - he saw it coming, brought a massive, booted foot up, and - her size worked against her for once - his sole connected with her face, she felt her nose breaking, the dull snap of cartilage tearing apart hissing over the heat of their fight, she fell backwards, head bouncing against the street, roaring pain driving hot, rusted spikes through her brain, and she felt - felt - the dagger clattered away again, hot, wet stickiness sliding down her cheek, her nose, into her mouth, copper welling up, she swished it around her tongue, she reached out for the serrated blade -

Ke's boot stomped down on her forearm, pinning it to the ground; Smellerbee glared up at him, eyes narrowed, presumptuous sneer on his face, yellowed eyes gleaming with premature victory - jerk thought he'd won just because he'd disarmed her and landed a few lucky blows, but she'd show him. Just let him get overconfident, let him think he's got an easy win - then take him by surprise, it's your one chance because he won't fall for it again, just be patient -

Crouching down, keeping his foot planted firmly on her arm, Ke looked down upon Smellerbee, condescending, sure, but that was just standard fare for these monsters in human clothing. His mustache perked with his sneer, the age lines in his face deepening. "See...I told you you wouldn't be able to do it. Just face it: I'm a man with years of Firebending and military experience. You...you're just a little boy with a lucky streak who thinks he can wield a sword. Street scum. Less than that, even. Even the people in the ghettos of this putrid city would throw you out on your ass."

Smellerbee coughed, flecks of blood spraying into the air. Smirking, she said, "News flash for you, I guess: I been fighting since I was five - and by that age, you were still in primary school - probably not even properly potty trained." She snorted hard, long, and spat a loogey onto his point-toed boot - rage seared across Ke's face, and there, that was her opening; balling her free hand into a fist, she jabbed upwards, aiming for that tender spot she'd missed seconds before. The armor plating was meant to protect against a junk-shot from the front, but a solid punch from below would have and did do him in, it rocked him and made him jolt backwards, off-balance. He yelped, high-pitched, almost a squeal (_such a sweet sound!_); Smellerbee rolled, somersaulted, grabbed the dagger up into her right hand. She whirled around and sprung forward, Ke was still stunned, Smellerbee punted him in the chest and sent him to the ground, left shoulder connecting first, leaving his sword unattended to -

Sheathing the dagger, Smellerbee grabbed the grip of Ke's sword and yanked it free from its sheath, stumbling back from the weight, finding balance, hefting it up with both hands, the blade reflecting the sky, the comet, and - Surestance's blood glistening on the spaded tip, partway down its length, the blood of her steed, her partner, she would _kill_ this man with his own blade, she _would_, her furor sharpening, targeted, Ke would die, he'd _die_ at her hands!

"You're nothing," she seethed, a frown splitting her face in two. She wiped away blood leaking from under her nose, ignoring the stinging pain from the broken cartilage. Another warm, sticky spot had appeared on her cheek, just below her right eye - a gash, probably, a rough bit of stone from when she'd hit the ground. "_You're_ the scum, a bottomfeeder, a pathetic, doddering man who gets his kicks by shackling Earth Kingdom children into slave lines and shipping them off to do hard labor. You kill for glory and sport, you spread death like disease, you're so blinded by your own supposed greatness that you treat everyone else as disposable, worthless pawns. And," Smellerbee added, baring her teeth, bringing the sword up over her head, "you just got your ass kicked by a _girl_."

Ke's eyes widened, shocked, and Smellerbee _knew_ what was going on inside that monstrous head of his. His 'hiccup,' the only blemish on his military career, had become a searing wound, because he'd mistaken her gender, and for once she didn't take offense to the assumption. The epiphany was a beautiful blade, graceful, elegant, edges sharp and oiled and so easy to cut through flesh, splitting him open, unseen blood come in the form of pride, seeping, depleting him -

- and, rage took him, stripped him of his focus, and he thrust up to his feet, hand balled into a fist, and he drove it onto Smellerbee's jaw; she backstepped, bringing this sword, _hers_ now, down in a sharp, heavy arc, the blade sinking into Ke's forearm, cleaving flesh and armor, severing it, he howled, the severed limb clattering to the ground, fingers curled and stained with spilt blood, palm to the sky.

Collapsing to one knee, Ke grunted, breath hard and heavy, whistling through clenched teeth, eyes squinted shut, blood dripping from his stump, leaving large, black splatters on the street. Smellerbee relaxed her grip on the sword, letting the tip rest on the ground; drawing a deep breath, she said, "You're done. You can't fight back anymore. You don't know how to deal with rage; I've been handling that for years, and you...you can't even approach it. It burns you. What a wonderful irony, right?"

"Y-you gloat too much," Ke seethed, and - fire crackled across his hand again, and Smellerbee threw herself to the left - but the attack never came, instead Ke clamped his hand over his stump, a short, abrupt scream torn from his mouth; he was cauterizing the wound, trying to keep himself in the fight, she hadn't even thought he'd go this far, but he did, and she brought the sword back up again, she had to end this _now_, as much as she wanted him to die slowly, if he was willing to pull out all the stops then she had to do the same, she -

Ke pulled his hand away, his stump sizzling and burnt but no longer leaking blood, even though a great big splatter glistened on the street, and - he turned around and punched the air, a huge fireball aimed right at her, she juked again, and -

hit a wall

head bounced off rock

sword slipped from her hands

so dizzy

stunned vulnerable weak

- she collapsed to the ground, breath hot in her lungs, she should have been more aware of her surroundings, but she hadn't, _she_ had become cocky in his defeat, had made the same mistake he'd done, and now she struggled even to get up, but her arms wouldn't listen, her legs tingled and went limp, and a shadow fell over her as Ke, wounded and less a man than a minute ago, leaned over with a palm of fire, his face warped with hatred and fury, and Smellerbee -

_THOCK!_

Through her haze, Smellerbee saw an arrow - straight and sure and so perfectly aimed - sticking out of Ke's stump. The man howled, lurching back and clutching the mangled limb; before he swung it out of her line of sight, Smellerbee saw the arrow lodged into of one of two slightly lighter ovals against the charred black flesh. One of the bones in the forearm.

That musta hurt like a _bitch_.

Raising her head, she saw - well, who else _could_ it have been? Longshot, riding on Fletcher, still so far away, at least a hundred yards, hurtling along the ground, a cloud of dust exploding up and back with each footstep. The archer had his bow out and another arrow nocked, letting fly - hitting the stump again, angled this time, since Ke held it up, but she had no doubt he'd been aiming for (and hit) that second lighter-black oval. Ke spasmed, fell backwards, screeching, an inhuman sound, high-pitched and wicked; once more, Smellerbee was reminded of her monster-in-disguise analogy, only now the jerk vocalized the fact.

He was the epitome of the evil the Fire Nation presented - the kind of atrocity that had forced Jet to hate indiscriminately. The kind that helped clear that distinction Smellerbee had set for herself. If she hadn't experienced the incident firsthand, she would'a had trouble associating Spatula with this beast, even from a military perspective.

Relief rushed through her, an explosion of self-confidence, the dulled flame of the abyss flaring up and scorching and wrapping around her again, reinvigorating her, reviving her. Partially for the save, but mostly because Longshot still had her back, and he gave her the strength to clench down on that obnoxious lack of motor skills. Grunting, she reached out and wrapped a hand around the handle of Ke's spade-tipped sword, blood seeping from her nose, coloring the ground with dark scarlet freckles. She pushed herself up, the road rough and cold and unyielding beneath the palm of her free hand, the toes of her boots scraping against the stone. Her knees cracked as she pushed herself up, legs wobbled as she unfurled herself, brain still a little fuzzy, vision just outta synch, but that was okay, better than a few seconds ago, and even though the sword felt heavier now than it had, she swung it around and grasped it in both hands.

He was prone. It didn't matter if his death was slow at this point, she was still off-kilter, she wouldn't be able to do much good (unless Ke called for a time out and they all sat down for about ten minutes, and color Smellerbee skeptical, but she didn't find that very likely). Take him out while he's incapacitated, end the stupid thing, then - play kickball with his head. Hahaha, like she'd told Pestle to do with the Overdweller's on the boat. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Cut the hydra's head off because the beast would already be dead and wouldn't be able to regrow them. Kick it into walls, punt it into the air so it landed hard on the street, blood staining whatever it hit, bones snapping and shattering and exploding beneath the dead flesh, don't stop until they're nothing but dust and his eyes and brains and tongue all gush out and lay sprawled across the street, covered in dirt and grime and filth and grit, jump on them, stomp them to splashes of goo, nothing, nothing, let him wind up the same as Surestance, let him -

...no.

Kill him. Be done with it. She brought the sword up, ready to cleave downward, ready to strike. Don't go too far, don't let the hate consume you _that_ much, then she'd be crossing that line herself, that distinction between Good Fire Nation and Bad Fire Nation, and _she'd_ become the monster. She'd regress, lose the person she'd been building herself into. That wasn't her anymore. Surestance shouldn't be avenged like that. Let the sword's weight do its job, let -

"_I'm not done with you yet!_"

Ke, she could still tell he was in agony, but age and experience had taught him endurance and sense of surroundings despite his wounds (again something Smellerbee had known from a young age, something Ke probably learned late into his life, and botching this, crashing into the wall, had been a fluke. A stupid fluke, but a fluke nonetheless). He rolled away just as Smellerbee heaved the sword downward, going with its weight and gravity, striking the stone and shooting up great, earth-shattering sparks. Couldn't follow up - still dizzy, she stumbled, almost fell over again, managed to catch herself by planting a hand against the very wall she'd crashed into -

Flame surged to life on Ke's hand, great tongues of fire lashing at the air, he drew it back, thrust into the air, straight at Longshot and Fletcher, and -

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Dodge dodge dodge dodge dodge dodge _dodge!_

Nothing, no matter how hard he pulled on Fletcher's reins, the ostrich horse kept a steady course, galloping towards the massive wave of fire engulfing the street and walls of the penned-in arena Pestle had made- this was reckless, this was _stupid_, it could be averted so _easily_ and yet Fletcher seemed insistent on - on -

He remembered the sensation he'd gotten when Fletcher came to him over the rooftops. Time slowed to a crawl with the realization, and - he'd tried to avert it so _much_, but here it was, this was it, his precious ostrich horse heading for oblivion, to the Spirit World, and...

There was nothing he could do about it, wasn't there?

Longshot had never been a take-charge person, he'd readily admit it any day of the week, but he still preferred it when things were under control (and it didn't matter who made it that way). This time - this time, he _could_ take control, it'd be a walk in the tree house to wrangle this one in, _especially _compared to Pan Xing, but Fletcher wouldn't let it happen because she had a destiny to fulfill and now was the time.

It had been too short a time. Three months, and only that. He'd known what was coming for the past few minutes and he'd tried so _hard_ to make sure Fletcher came out of this alive, despite the looming maw of the Spirit of Death, ready to descend at any time.

Longshot had already pried one soul away from the Spirits' hands, when they'd escaped from Lake Laogai, he'd returned breath to Smellerbee, returned _life_ to her...and Sneers had warned them, so long ago, that the Spirits never took kind to that. Never, not once. This must have been his payment, one life for another, and it wasn't _fair_, Fletcher shouldn't have to pay, she _shouldn't!_

The wave of fire roared and crackled and Longshot could feel its blistering heat raking searing claw marks across his face, his hands, his stomach as it closed in, and...

Clarity washed over him, cleared his mind of anguish, of the knowledge that - that this would hurt _so much_ later, when he could sit down and the war was at an end. He knew what he had to do. He let go of Fletcher's reins, ghosted his free hand over the down on her neck, and pushed himself up, leaping into a standing position on her saddle. Curved, gripless, with smooth leather, standing on one of these while riding a bounding ostrich horse was _not _something most people could do. Years of living and fighting amongst trees...Spatula had been right, it made you agile, gave you a different kind of balance.

"Goodbye," He whispered, and - his eyes stung, vision blurred, and he leapt away, time returned to its normal pace, Fletcher gave a quiet, embracing croak, and, and then, so hot, so _hot_, he cleared the fire ball, over the top, and, freefalling, landed, rolled, and, and, and - a shriek from behind him, and - _nothing_ -

Longshot sprang back up to his feet, and - there stood Ke, hobbling away from him, from Smellerbee, fleeing, he'd seen Longshot escape, he knew he didn't stand a chance, and, and, and the ice, the cool head Longshot prided himself on, it _shattered_, not cold, not cold anymore, hot, blistering, searing, just like that time he'd been pinned under the collapsed water tower in Omashu, but beastly, out of control, he hated that but now, now he'd _embrace_ it, let him push forward, let him tear revenge from the man's throat, he felt something warm and wet cutting twin slices down his cheeks, how dare he, how _dare he_ take Fletcher from him, it didn't matter if it had been destiny, fate, a matter of claiming payment, it did _not_, rationale had left him, pulse throbbing behind his ears, legs thundering against the street, he nocked three arrows, drew back, squinted one eye and peered through the other, the bow taut and shaking in his grasp, released, three whistling noises, piercing the air, the air, and and _armor, flesh_, that monster, that _abomination_, killing indiscriminately, he'd suffer, _he'd_ pay the toll with Fletcher, and Ke stumbled, collapsed, arrows lodged in his shoulder, he used his momentum to stagger back to his feet, flinging weak sparks of fire behind him, he would _die,_ he would _die_, and Longshot would be the one to do it, it didn't matter now if it had been Smellerbee's fight because Ke had made it personal, he

he was there, all of a sudden, right in front of Longshot, and, his bow, gone, didn't know where

_wanted to, to shout, to yell at her for punching him, she hadn't needed to resort to something so carnally_

bad at melee combat, so _bad_, that's why he'd had the forks and knives secreted away for him in prison

_never once in his life resorted to something so, so savage, so barbaric, as throwing a punch_

punching, punching _hard_, no grace, no accuracy, just slam him, over and over again, fierce, ferocious

_expressed that the concept was brutish_

struck unarmored spots, any he could find, and Ke fumbled, groaning, and Longshot whipped his knee up, catching the, the _plague_ of a man in the chin

_just another way of resorting to the lowest common denominator to communicate_

Ke collapsed backwards, shrieking as the arrows in his shoulder drove deeper into the flesh before the shafts snapped like so much kindling beneath him

_capabilities in the way of hand-to-hand fighting still lacked_

before he knew it, Longshot was down on the ground, straddling Ke, fists, _not_ like Ty Lee had taught him, but just, just, untrained, wild, animalistic, brutish

_always been terrible at close-combat fighting_

he _hated_ it, but he _loathed_ this man, the man who had torn something from him that meant so much, each blow landing, laying hard into Ke's face, his helmet ricocheting away, skittering across the ground. Each punch, the archer didn't _feel_ it, Longshot wouldn't have known he'd been connecting if Ke's face didn't jerk left, right, every time he struck the bastard, his fists, his _body_ numb, ears deafened, but he, he felt his mouth open, and his throat had gone raw, Ke's face had turned blue and purple and black and red, puffy, swollen, tender, and - and -

A hand.

A hand on his shoulder, and...the fire snuffed out, gone. His mind buzzed, his body tingled and felt, felt immaterial, like he'd lift off from the ground at any second, rise and follow Fletcher to the Spirit World, but his knees remained safely rooted to the ground, anchored. Turning his head, he saw Smellerbee standing over him out of the corner of his vision, even blurred, he could _tell_ it was her. Her expression had become soft, eyes wide and sorrowful, her mouth pinched, cheeks puckered, blood smeared her face, and, and - tears...

Surestance. Where - where was Surestance - ?

"Dead." Smellerbee's voice cracked, and she swallowed, fighting back - fighting back the same thing Longshot hadn't been able to. "Eviscerated. Burned to cinders. _He_ did it."

And - it didn't matter how much Smellerbee tried, Longshot could still tell how much the urge to end the monster pinned beneath him clamored, roared, just under her skin. In her off hand, she held a glistening, golden two-handed sword, the tip smeared with blood and bits of entrails...and _that_ would be his end. Not anything Longshot would do.

Where words failed, intention filled the void and action sought the conclusions that needed to be obtained.

"It's alright. It's okay," Smellerbee murmured, tightening her grip on Longshot's shoulders. It was her way of saying, _no, it's not okay, not now, but someday the pain will hurt less, just like everyone else that we've lost, just like it had been when losing Jet._ "The world keeps moving, and - and..."

The sky - the red, the rage, the fury - it seeped away, yielding to the calm, serene blue that had belonged to, to _everyone_, the world. The two Freedom Fighters turned their attention upward, and - and, scraping against the dome of the world, the golden teardrop that was Sozin's Comet, faded, faded...gone, leaving behind it a trail of shimmering light that vanished into the atmosphere.

For better or worse, the war was over. Longshot glanced down, Ke moaned, through puffed eyes, glaring at the spot where the comet had vanished from, his bloated mouth curled into what could barely pass for a scowl. "No...no..."

"It's over." Smellerbee drew a deep, tight breath, and Longshot felt that the time had come to stand up, get away from the monstrosity lying on the ground beneath him. He unfurled himself, realizing that his hat had been flung from his head in his furor. Grabbing the brim and flipping it back into place, loose strands of hair as fluttering, dark whispers in his vision, Longshot stared down at the ruined beast at his feet. He - he felt a little remorse, because - had Longshot _done_ that? Ke's face looked more like a prune now. A swollen, bloody prune. The guilt, the shame, was just a flicker, an ember, compared to the contempt he felt for the soldier, and where was that frosty cool he'd taken with him everywhere, where - he'd lost _control_, hadn't he...?

"Don't worry about it," Smellerbee said. He glanced to her; she wore an empathetic, but empty grin. She was tired, her face caked with blood, her Lotus Society robes sooty and stained with dark splotches, some parts singed black from close calls she'd endured during the day. "It happens to all of us. You're not immune to that, and...it's okay. It's just part of human nature. A forgivable thing. But wanton destruction, indiscriminate murder..." she cast her gaze down to Ke, maimed, swollen, destroyed, less of a man for the ordeal. "That isn't. I told you I'd kill you, and I told you it'd be by your own sword." Shifting her free hand to the sword's grip, she hefted the weapon up over one shoulder, stumbled a little bit from the weight, and with a yell, brought it down -

_Kschang!_

Sparks erupted from the stone, peppering Ke's mottled face, making him flinch and reel back. The sword's edge broke through the ground, stuck into it, so solidly that Smellerbee let go of the blade and it remained tilted up. Realizing that he wasn't dead, Ke shifted his gaze towards her, hate glistening in his eyes.

"What is it," he hissed, voice slurring. Longshot got the unnerving sensation that he'd knocked some of the man's teeth loose, and fought back a shiver. "Do me in. The war is over, Ba Sing Se is in the hands of you filthy mudsuckers, and I'd just as soon die than be judged by you savages."

"Surprised?" Smellerbee leaned forward and sneered, one so impressive that Sneers himself would blush with envy. "Don't be. I ain't gonna make this easy for you. As much as I want to rip you limb-from-limb and feed what's left to starved, rabid boar-q-pines...as much as I want to cut you to ribbons for murdering two of the smartest, sweetest creatures on the planet, for all the innocent blood you've spilled...I won't do you in." She straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're despicable, revolting, and the shabbiest excuse for a human being I've ever met. As hard as it is for me to let you walk away...you'll suffer _far_ more locked up than dead. It might take us a while, but the end result will be _so_ much more gratifying. Remember this defeat."

She cast a glance over to Longshot before jerking her head towards his bow, discarded so callously a few yards away in his reckless...bloodlust. So, that what it had been, hadn't it? It made sense, now, he wanted to color the street black with Ke's lifeblood. That realization made him numb...he wondered how Smellerbee put up with it, captured it, made it her own and used it to her advantage.

He'd have to ask her about it. She'd said his reaction was natural...but the more time he had to figure it out, the less likely it seemed. Maybe it was natural for Smellerbee, but it wasn't, it shouldn't have been, for Longshot.

Sighing through his nose, he crossed over Ke's prone form, his eyes drifting to the street, marred with ash, blood, jagged scars caused by blades sheered across it. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he heard his boots scuffing across the stone - did he always used to do that? In this silence, so stifling, as if the comet leaving the planet had been a time limit, that the Fire Nation soldiers had picked up their white flags. Surrendering. The capital city was back in the Earth Kingdom's hands, that bit of knowledge _sounded_ as if it'd settled amongst everyone; without their amped-up Firebending, they were mostly foot soldiers, enlisted men whose skills were lackluster at best. Maybe a few commissioned officers. Maybe some with more Firebending prowess than even Ke had possessed, but they'd be anomalies. Longshot hadn't encountered anything of the sort during his return trip to the city, and even if they still fought, there were still enough White Lotus and Freedom Fighters out there to put an end to it.

Suddenly - a crumpling sound, Smellerbee crying out - _shit_ - Longshot whirled around, eyes wide, saw Smellerbee lying face-down on the street, struggling to push herself up - and Ke, hunkering over her, tired, weary, ready to give out - and fire sputtered to life in his remaining hand, oh no, oh no, not _now_, not when they'd _won_ and _survived_, he planted a boot on Smellerbee's back, pinning her down, and with a roar, he thrust his fist down -

- stopped, froze, eyes stretched and narrow - and...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

He knew it.

He knew he'd be backed into that corner, that he'd have to make The Hard Decision, he'd known it well into the comet's onset, and the sensation only got stronger when Pipsqueak had been - had been -

The Duke didn't actually know what had happened to Pipsqueak. His stomach churned and lurched and felt ready to explode inside him, because, because they'd already been separated once and the thought of him actually having been killed...it was different from the Invasion, where Pipsqueak would be okay and all that would have been there was the separation anxiety. Pipsqueak - he and Smellerbee had set him free from that slave line, Pipsqueak had lead him back to Ying Hua in a nigh-vain effort to quell Momma's worrying (the Momma whose face had begun to blur and fade into obscurity), Pipsqueak had followed him from Hong Ye following Jet's attempt to flood out a village of Fire Nation sympathizers...

That - The Duke tried pushing it all down, stuffing it into a barrel too small to contain it, sitting on the lid in a faltering bid to keep everything contained. To keep from - from -

Overflowing.

Smellerbee had told him about that before the jailbreak. How she'd lost herself and donned a mask to keep from overflowing.

The Duke couldn't do that. He had no facade (vocabulary) to hide behind, he'd always been frank and sincere and studious, too much for the kind of terror shifting inside his belly. Maybe - maybe this nausea made it easier to make The Hard Decision, compounding ills, just getting it _over _with -

The sky had cleared, the battlefield had fallen into a stark, unsettling silence, as if the comet's passing had signified the Fire Nation's loss. But not all of the fights had come to a close. Trying to track down Pipsqueak - so hard, he wasn't that skilled in tracking to begin with, and the streets had been smeared with too much blood, too many corpses, _impossible_ to find him...he turned onto a street (weird, most of it was closed in by rock walls), staving off the need to puke, to sniffle and break down, to return to helpless little Dian. But - _wait!_ Smellerbee and Longshot, standing over a Fire Nation soldier's body, they'd be able to help, they were the best trackers the Freedom Fighters had, they'd find Pipsqueak no problem, and he began to run towards them, tiny legs pumping, chest already alight from exhaustion straining all over again, his entire body just _hurt_ from this, this veritable clusterfuck (okay, he'd let himself curse this once) of fights laid over fights laid over fights. They'd be able to solve this, and Longshot turned away, to pick up - something. His bow? Smellerbee gazed after him, The Duke saw her mouth curl into a concerned frown, like - like something had happened to him, and -

Too sudden - too fast to really perceive it - the corpse, the corpse suddenly _moved_, it wasn't dead, it had been - prone, either playing opossum turtle or, more likely, knocked out, something the pair of Freedom Fighters had known about. It kicked, a slow, clumsy movement, catching Smellerbee on the hamstrings, sending her sprawling onto her stomach, and, and, Longshot whirled, not even close to his weapon, oh spirits, close the distance, move, adrenalin surging through him, the weariness evaporated with a sharp hiss, like boiling water, and, and oh _spirits_ this wasn't good, the body stumbled to its feet, not a corpse anymore, a soldier, wounded, part of its forearm missing, two arrows sticking out of it, armor cracked and broken and shattered, he hunkered down, weakened, but not, not _enough_, almost there, almost _there_, The Duke cursed his age, his legs, being so tiny, couldn't run very fast, he reached around behind him and wrapped a hand around the shaft of his pike, yanked it free with one awkward, graceless moment, and he felt like he should - scream, peel a war cry from his throat, something, _anything_!

The truth, though - he was too scared. Too frightened. He saw the fire flicker to life in the former-corpse's remaining hand, and though The Duke's legs kept moving, his jaw locked shut, throat swollen and paralyzed, he, he'd whiff, he'd miss and Smellerbee would die, she'd _die_, and it'd be his fault -

- the soldier raised his fist -

- ready to slam it down on her -

- didn't matter if the comet had passed -

- a fire ball to the back could kill no matter how strong -

- and, there, he was right _there_, his lower back was exposed, all you have to do is, all you need to do is shove your arms out, push as if you're learning hand-to-hand from Sneers, building up your strength, your ability to keep your root intact, just, just _do_ it, this is The Hard Decision, but with Smellerbee's life on the line it wasn't that hard at all, was it? The soldier didn't look around - didn't notice him - okay, good, that'd be kinda easier this way -

He thrust his pike into the soldier's back, and - and there was some resistance at first, scraped the spine or something, maybe even broke through it, but the man had frozen, he'd stopped as if he were, um, he were - yeah, a statue, that was a fitting analogy, and then, then there was something - squishy, sloshing, something that yielded so easily to the blade intruding on the man's innards, and - and then, no resistance at all, nothing, just -

The man collapsed forward, forehead slamming hard into the street with a loud, whip like crack, crumpling like a discarded rag doll. Smellerbee scrambled up to her feet, stared at the man, but he didn't move and this time it was for real, this time he _was_ dead, he didn't move and his body didn't lie flat on the ground because The Duke's pike had gone all the way through, the tip glistening dark red, and, and the man's neck was at a weird angle, and, and blood seeped out from under his head, and - oh spirits - little blobs of pink _something_ intermingled with it, and, and, and, The Duke bent over, he fell to his hands and knees, barely felt the raw, searing sensation on his palms, he couldn't hold it back anymore, he overflowed, puke splattering against the ground like the man's blood, like his, like his _brains_. As he retched, he - he sobbed, so hard, almost like _trying_ to suck some of the sick back before it could escape, he hiccupped, tears streamed down his face, oh spirits he'd _killed_ a person, a _person_, it didn't matter if he'd been trying to kill Smellerbee or what harm he'd inflicted during his life, he still deserved to live, _everyone_ did, the people The Duke liked and the people he didn't all had the right to live in the same world as he did, and, oh spirits, oh...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee stared down at The Duke, and - and didn't know what to do.

She'd been there before - she'd made her first kill, but at half his age, and circumstances forced her to accept that fact. Her youth helped buffer the shock, memories transforming to burnt, faded parchment; The Duke didn't have that advantage, it'd still be fresh, it'd be there for years.

What did you _say_ to someone in this situation? Nobody had said anything to her; the Fire Nation just took advantage of that bloodlust, tried turning her into a weapon. She'd been forced to live with it without anyone to help her.

She heard Longshot sidle up beside her and cast a glance towards him; he returned her gaze, and she could see the same bewilderment in his eyes that dug its fingers into her mind.

Maybe there wasn't anything to say. Nonverbal communication wasn't uncommon amongst Freedom Fighters.

So, turning her attention back to The Duke, sobbing, coughing, heaving, she crouched down - body sore, knees popping - and rested a hand on his back, rubbing it in slow, careful circles. The physical comfort would have to do for now.

And the war drew to a close.


	11. Chapter 5, Part 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 5, Part 1: Tell my tale to those who ask it...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Four days after Sozin's Comet_

"You doin' okay, Sneers?" A deep voice called from the other side of Sneers' door.

Pipsqueak. Of course. The only one ignorant enough to keep trying. Rebuking the rest had been easy enough; Smellerbee was too caught up with setting up for what laid after the war and Longshot spent as much time as he could with her, while The Duke had to sort out his own problems and hadn't even stopped by. Pipsqueak, though - this had to have been, what, the fourth time he'd knocked on his door since getting back on the ship? It was obnoxious. Sneers needed alone time.

Sitting on his floor, his legs crossed, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, he tuned the man out, squinching his eyes shut. He drew a deep breath in, expelled it, in, out...ever since leaving the forest, he'd only ever gotten the chance to meditate on the boat from Pan Xing to Ba Sing Se and back. Every day on the road, they had to move swiftly; camps needed to be broken down as soon as possible, supplies needed packing, cover needed to be kept up...the ships came as a relief, a chance to slough all the negative energy that had been accumulating ever since. His quarters granted him solitude and peace of mind, and even though he still had duties to tend to, they weren't so tightly bound to a schedule that he couldn't get an hour in here or there.

He couldn't undress, though. He hated having to do this in his clothes. It muddled the connections with the Spirits. He couldn't use his hands for much; if the stinging, razor-hot sensation wasn't enough to remind him, the gauze wrapped from his fingertips to his elbows reduced his fine motor control skills to mud. He could open a door, and he could eat with any utensils other than chopsticks, and he could drop trou for those bodily functions he'd rather not have someone else help him with, but that was the extent of things. He couldn't even light his incense sticks, which helped his chi flow freely.

It unnerved him. He used his arms more than anything else in combat, and if the event came where the Freedom Fighters needed to defend themselves, he'd be useless to them.

"Hey, look, uh...I know how hard it is to walk away from Ba Sing Se without hurtin'. I, uh..."

Sneers snorted, wishing he could at least plug his ears. Knowing Pipsqueak would persist until the monk said something, he drew a deep breath and said, "Go away, Bigguns. You don't know what it's like at all."

"You don't even know what happened to any of us," Pipsqueak replied, somber and calm, rather than affronted. Sneers had been aiming for the latter because it would drive the behemoth away, but every time, any jabs or insults bounced right off him. "You been closing yourself off to us. I saw you being hauled away on a stretcher when the battle was over. You can't blame me for being concerned."

"...don't bother." Sneers let his eyes slide open, his mouth curling down into his signature sneer. "Get outta here. I don't want to talk about it."

Silence. Did it work that time? He tilted his head to the side and strained his ears, listening for any signs...no, he was still there, the hall didn't echo with clopping footsteps. Ugh. Pipsqueak was a stubborn sumbitch, and he'd only keep bothering Sneers until the monk let him in. If not today, then tomorrow, and every day afterwards, and that wouldn't be very conducive to meditation at all.

Crap.

There wasn't any option but to relent at this point, was there? Sighing, he said, "Okay, get your ass in here. But we're making this quick."

With a heavy, grating squeal, the door to Sneers' quarters swung inward, and Pipsqueak's massive frame stood silhouetted in the threshold. "Hey, it's awful dark in here. Want me to light a lantern or something?"

The monk winced as he planted his hands on the floor and pushed himself up into a crouching position, eventually hoisting himself up onto his feet. With a grunt, he swayed, caught his balance, and moved over to the cot set up against one wall. "Sure. Go for it." Another simple action he couldn't perform without help; it hadn't ever really been a problem till now, he preferred the dark when meditating anyway.

It still didn't stop the fact from irritating him. Made him feel useless.

Pipsqueak entered the room proper and crossed over towards the nearest wall-mounted lantern before stopping, frowning. "Where do you keep your spark rocks?"

Sneers raised a hand up to pinch his sinuses, but a sharp, searing pain reminded him that it wasn't a very smart idea, and so he let his arm fall back to his side. He walked over to the corner of the room, where a small supply sack had been discarded, the drawstring opening loose and the contents half spilled onto the floor. Nudging the bag with his toe, he said, "They're in here somewhere. Mind?" Spirits, he _hated_ being so...

Pipsqueak shuffled over to the corner, and Sneers backed away to give the giant enough room. Kneeling, Pipsqueak felt his way through the clutter on the floor, eyes not accustomed to the dark yet. He didn't find it there (but it was possible he'd skipped over it...), so he grabbed the sack and picked it up, wandering over to the door again, sifting through the contents in the dim, red glow from the hallway. He eventually came up with the pair of jade-colored crystals; a few seconds later, the lanterns flared to life, casting flickering, orange light around them, dancing almost enticingly against everything it touched.

The behemoth grabbed the wooden chair stationed under the room's desk and swiveled it around, planting himself down and resting his hands on his knees. Sneers plopped down onto the cot again and shook his head, snorting. "Okay, let's get this over with. What do you want?"

"Hey, I'm concerned is all," Pipsqueak yielded, hiking his eyebrows. "You've been brooding here pretty much nonstop. I only ever see you to out when you come to get food from the galley and when you go use the bathroom. It's like you're taking your wound personally, like it's your fault, and that ain't like you, Sneers. Er, well, not when it comes to you personally. Cuz you've always taken responsibility for when you screw up and it gets others hurt."

"Thanks for that." Sneers scowled. "Any more foot-in-mouthisms you wanna share with me? And there's a difference between brooding and communicating with the Spirits, just so we're clear."

He could see Pipsqueak's grip tighten on his pants (most of the invasion force at Pan Xing managed to secure their old clothes, although how they did it remained a mystery), a grimace worming across the man's jaw. His gaze flicked downward, a blush glowing bright on his cheeks. "I, er, sorry. I ain't too good with the whole speaking thing. My words don't really come together right."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Look," Pipsqueak murmured, and with a visible amount of effort, he turned his eyes back to the monk, the blush unfading. "We both got hurt in Ba Sing Se. And Spatula, and a bunch of others, too. And we lost five Freedom Fighters - _Hong Ye_ Freedom Fighters - and they were close to all of us. It's not like you're the only one suffering. And the ones who didn't get hurt physically had something else bad that happened to them.

"..." Sneers was the one to look away this time, and his brain started to thrum; they'd...five Freedom Fighters? That...dammit...his chest tightened. How could...Smellerbee had promised! He drew a deep, steadying breath.

"Who...who did we lose?"

"Anchor took a mace to the head. Glisten got caught between two Firebenders. Cooler and Greenleaf fell off one of those tall apartments; we figure they'd got cornered by a couple of soldiers and lost their balance. Pine was trampled by komodo rhinos." Pipsqueak heaved a sigh and shuddered. "They were all good kids."

Sneers squeezed his eyes shut; those children - _children!_ - weren't any older than twelve, and some of them weren't even supposed to be fighting! Glisten had no formal combat training and an accident from a couple years ago left Pine with limited mobility. They must have snuck into the fight, so eager to do what they could for their country, just like stupid Spatula. Spatula was combat-ready and _he'd_ gotten hurt too! His eyes began to sting, an obnoxious sensation - he hated it, it meant he was going to, ugh, to _cry_, and that was worse than the tearing, gnashing pain raking across his forearms. He clenched his jaw tight to avoid the ridiculous expressions that came along with the misery, the chin tightening as the lips puckered, the cheeks drawing in on themselves. It...wow. He hadn't even known. He'd been so occupied with dealing with his own angst...

It took a moment for words to come back to him - and, at last, he murmured, "In war, sacrifices are to be expected...but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. Smellerbee had promised she'd do what she could to get us all out of there alive, how she didn't want any of them die after we lost Telltale and Morter..."

"Death ain't something you can prevent," Pipsqueak replied, hunkering over and clasping his hands. "'_It comes for you when it damn well pleases._' That's a pretty good way of saying it, right?"

Usually, Pipsqueak playing philosopher was annoying at best, but this time...it brought a little levity to the atmosphere, and Sneers felt a smile tugging on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"They weren't the only ones," Pipsqueak murmured, his voice low. "Bee and Longshot's ostrich horses..."

Wait...what? They'd died...? But - Smellerbee always said how smart the creatures were, how they had souls...even though Sneers couldn't really see it. (Then again, Smellerbee always _did_ have an affinity for intuiting people...it didn't come as a surprise that she could do the same to animals.)

"It's - you can't tell by looking at them, but the two of them are really bumming over it." Pipsqueak sighed, and from the corner of his eye, Sneers saw him bow his head and shake it. "Those ostrich horses meant a lot to them. And it's sad knowing that they got killed that way."

"How did it happen?" Sneers mumbled, letting his arms fall to his sides. "I mean - they should have been secured with the team that had to stay at the outer wall."

"They got out, somehow." Pipsqueak gave an uncomfortable shrug. "Nobody's been able to figure out how they did it. They escaped, got past the walls, and managed to find Longshot and Smellerbee in the middle of a fight with a colonel of the Fire Nation army."

Sneers drew a deep breath, chest tingling, and as he expelled, he realized that he'd been holding it. This was...well, they'd been part of the family, he guessed. It shamed him that it took him this long to think about it in those terms, because - they'd even had Freedom Fighter names, they had been excellent steeds, and...

Silence settled into the room, but it wasn't stifling or awkward...just necessary. Sneers needed a second to compose himself, and to think of what to say next; and, with a tiny jolt of surprise, he realized that he actually didn't _mind_ talking to Pipsqueak. Somehow the big goof had managed to pry away that willing anthropophobic shell Sneers liked to draw around himself when purifying. The monk had always known the guy had a heart bigger than the oldest, grandest tree in the forest, but until this point they had only coexisted as teammates, as...acquaintances, really. They only ever spoke when in each others' presence, never choosing to seek out the other one unless out of necessity. It wasn't an avoidant relationship, either; they just never really had a reason to go beyond what had already been there.

In the past few minutes, Sneers' opinion of Pipsqueak had changed, and he looked upon the man with new eyes. His broad face wore a light smirk, eyes glistening with the reflected torchlight, and Sneers grinned back. It had only taken that much time for a fleeting glimmer of a bond to form, and Sneers got the feeling that it'd be strengthened, more fortified by the time their conversation was over.

Before the silence could stagnate, Sneers hunkered down and said, "You mentioned that you knew what it was like to leave the battlefield wounded, but I've never seen you in better shape. What were you talking about?"

"Ah." Pipsqueak leaned back and rubbed the back of his head with one hand, a pensive look flickering across his face. "I was with The Duke about a half hour before the comet left the atmosphere." The behemoth shook his head and let his eyes slide shut for a moment. "We were in a narrow street packed with soldiers, and I was getting tired real quick...then the soldiers started to stick me with spears, right in the back and shoulders." He rotated his left shoulder as if to demonstrate, but if he was in any sort of pain, he didn't wince or hiss. "And to make things worse, a bunch more soldiers on komodo rhinos stampeded down the street in the middle of the brawl; I got to The Duke in time to toss him outta the way, but I couldn't move, being stuck like a pin cushion and all. So I did the only thing I could think of...I faced the komodo rhino charging at me head-on."

Sneers felt his eyes go wide. "Are you serious? No offence, Bigguns, but that's not the smartest idea in the world."

"I know." Pipsqueak shrugged, his mouth curling into a thoughtful frown. "But - it was either that or lie down and get trampled. And this way they'd be too caught up with me to notice The Duke. So I grabbed one of the monsters by the horns and...well, got my butt kicked. Wound up being dragged down along the street. The spears stuck in me snapped off, leaving the tips inside, which was awful nice of them...and then the next thing I know, every part of me that hurt felt cold. And not a bad, 'oh poop, I'm gonna die' cold, but a soothing one. Like my body was healing itself. And that's kinda what was happening."

Quirking his head to the side, the monk already had an idea of what had happened. So he took Pipsqueak's bait and ventured, "You were found by a Waterbender that knows the healing arts."

"Yeah." He nodded, wringing his hands as if...as if he were haunted by something. Maybe some phantom pain? Komodo rhinos were known to have incredibly sharp horns, razor-thin on the bottom, and if Pipsqueak'd grappled against one of them, his hands would be pretty bad off.

"Was she good enough to heal you?" Sneers probed. "I mean, completely? No residual pain?"

"None. Like you said, I'm better than ever right now." Pipsqueak furrowed his brow. "I mean, I kinda feel like my hands're split, like when I grabbed the komodo rhino, but they work fine and there aren't even any scars. Maybe it's because my hands are my...erm...they're important to me. Can't think of the word. But if they'd been messed up in the fight, I wouldn't be able to help build stuff at the base."

"I think you're thinking of 'livelihood.' That sounds about what you're trying to get at."

"Okay. Livelihood. I think The Duke taught me that one once." He gave a calm, yet still booming, laugh that reverberated throughout the metal room. "I think the feeling will go away in time. That healer was one helluva guy. Really knew his stuff."

Sneers' eyebrows hiked again, and he shook his head to make sure he'd heard correctly. That didn't make any sense. "Are you sure it was a guy? Waterbender males aren't traditionally allowed to learn the healing arts. It's a strict, cultural thing, a sexist divide in the Northern Water Tribe's culture."

"Well, I was kinda out of it at first, but he spoke like a guy and he had a beard. I don't remember much, but I remember him being really arrogant, and the infliction was just too deep to be a lady." Pipsqueak's head bobbed up and down. "He was dressed in blue, like Sokka or Katara, so he wasn't from Foggy Swamp..."

"Hmm...it's _possible_ he was from the Southern Water Tribes...but, from what I know, their culture was almost completely decimated early on in the war." Sneers brought his hand up to his chin, crooking it between his thumb and forefinger; he winced, hissed in protest, and returned said hand down to the mattress. "Either way...I'm glad you managed to find help, Bigguns."

"Yeah, me too...I just wish I'd known where you were so I could have him help you, too." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I'm sorry we couldn't."

Sneers drew a deep breath and sighed out through his nose. He didn't need to apologize...it wasn't like they could have done something without even knowing he was in trouble. Fixing Pipsqueak with a mirthful smirk, he said, "You did your best, man. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Heh." He grinned again. "Sure thing. You wanna go grab some lunch from the galley? Spatula's making curry with Ba Sing Se spices in it."

Sneers glanced around - he _could_ just excuse himself and go back to meditating...he could brush Pipsqueak off, because he still hadn't finished, what with the big guy's interruption...

Why, though? Besides, just the mention of Ba Sing Se curry made his taste buds dance in anticipation. He returned his gaze to Pipsqueak and nodded. "Sure. I haven't eaten since breakfast anyway."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Hey."

Spatula plopped down on the deck of the ship, the flat, paneled metal cold on his butt, even through his tattered, haggard prison clothes. He wriggled, scootching forward so he could poke his legs out of the safety rail, dangling them over the boat's side. He rested his elbows on the middle rail intersecting the fence and winced when he jarred his left; the burn hadn't healed yet, they didn't have any Waterbenders who could take care of it, so all he could do was ride it out and let his body heal itself. He had it covered in anti-bacterial salve and wrapped in gauze, in any case, which kept the wound cool to an extent (though it didn't really stop the burning, radiating razorblades from peeling at his skin).

Lowering the arm in question back down to his side, he turned to the person he'd addressed, who likewise sat against the deck's edge, leaning back on his hands, legs splayed out. The Duke, his helmet placed beside him, eyes glazing over the ocean's surface; Spatula may not have been as good at reading people as Smellerbee, but he could tell when people were...contemplative (was that even a word?), and the young Freedom Fighter, who in many ways was more of an adult than Spatula himself, had every right to be.

"Hey," The Duke replied, his voice - normal. Not like somebody wrought with the choice he'd had to make. Not like somebody who had experienced something like _that _as young as he was.

"You know..." Spatula exhaled through his nose and leaned forward a little, casting his gaze out to the beautiful, sapphire sky and the glistening ocean supporting it from below. "I killed three men in Ba Sing Se. They were my first. I've never had any enemies that actively tried to...I dunno, do that to me. Not before then. Those three soldiers would have burnt me to a crisp if I'd let them."

"Yeah. It's a good thing you fought back."

"I didn't have a choice." Spatula smirked, letting his eyes slide shut. "It was them or me. I chose 'me.'"

"It's great that you can justify yourself like that. I'm envious." Spatula could hear The Duke shifting his weight, a murmured rustling sound hiding just beneath the churning sea below them, the engines of the ship thrumming and clattering. "I wish I had your clarity."

Spatula shook his head, his grin melting into a small frown. "It's not just survivor instinct that makes me feel...well, not _alright_. More like it keeps this...seeping, gnashing shadow from lunging at my brain. Keeps me sane." He opened his eyes again and cast his gaze upward, to the sun climbing up to its peak. "The fact that I did my part in the war - that I did what I could and beyond - that's what _really_ justifies me. Even if it was just three men. If I hadn't taken them out somehow, then they would have gone on to kill someone else from our side. Like that saying about rice. Can't really remember it."

"'A single grain of rice would be all it takes to tip the scales,'" The Duke quipped, his tone matter-of-fact, lacking the insight Sneers would have put into it. "It's a philosophy that generated from northeastern Earth Kingdom territories, where rice is one of their leading crops."

"You read it in a book?"

"Of course. And it's right." The Duke chuckled, light and childlike, as if his purity hadn't been dashed by his actions. Maybe it hadn't. Spatula wouldn't be able to leave until he knew for sure. "Factually, if you have equal weight on each side of a scale, all you would need is the grain on one to make the scale tilt."

Ah. So that's why he didn't introspect it. To The Duke - ever the scientist - after the initial shock, he'd been trying to puzzle the concept out. Separating himself from it, turning it into a manner of logic.

That separatism wasn't gonna do him any good, though. He wouldn't learn anything, would he? Before Spatula could point this out, though, The Duke picked up the conversation again.

"I used to think..." The Duke murmured, his head lolling back, gaze shifting upward to the sky, "that killing would make me a different person. I didn't know why, and I couldn't tell what I'd become. How I'd change. At first...I thought I'd become like Smellerbee. So lost in her bloodhaze that stealing life came second-nature. That when the time came, I'd be leaping around the battlefield, eager to throw myself to that same thrashing, monstrous desire she does." He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Then I figured...if not that...I'd become introverted, unsociable. And I think losing myself like that scared me more. I like who I am. I like being friendly and upbeat and easily the cutest Freedom Fighter ever. You know, my boyish charms keep me in the good graces of many a female Freedom Fighter. Jet thought he was a ladies man...he had _nothing_ on me."

Spatula leaned back and heaved a laugh, chest tightening. He heard The Duke chuckle again, but this one was - lighter, more truehearted, like it ought to be. Catching his breath, Spatula said, "It must be an adorability factor or something, 'cause I'm plenty charming and nobody's come after me yet." The Firebender crossed his arms over his chest, the gauze rough beneath his fingers and palm. "But I see your point. Angst sucks. I'm glad to see you're not brooding about this, at least."

"No, not at all." The Duke's grin fell, his brow furrowing, his large ears flattening against his skull. "I'm more confused about it than anything else. I mean, I always knew that, one day, I'd have to kill somebody. It's just part of our lifestyle. I never went looking for it, but when you spend enough time fighting alongside, living, _loving_ people who have crossed that threshold years ago, you just sort of pick up on the fact that it's in your future. And now - it's like a puzzle, something I _should_ be able to piece out, to break apart and examine and find a logical solution to it. But no matter how many ways I turn it around in my head, it never fits together. Sorta like a jigsaw where there aren't any edges and all the pieces are blank. I have nowhere to start and I can't tell if the pieces even match up. Does that make sense?"

Sighing, Spatula leaned back slowly until his shoulder blades pressed against the cold, ridged metal, and rested his right hand beneath his head. It had been so long since he'd kept his hair in a topknot that he'd forgotten what it felt like to have it all pressed flat against the scalp, but since the secret was out about his origins, and because the Freedom Fighters for the most part accepted him despite that, there was no point in leaving his hair down anymore. Granted, all he had to keep it together was a strand of twine, but he'd always been fond of his topknot and felt a little bit more complete with it done up, even if haggardly so. "It makes perfect sense. I mean...it's so recent in your head that you're leaning too close to that puzzle. Probably why you can't find the edges and why there's no picture. But when you've had enough time to put room between yourself and it, maybe that answer'll come to you."

"..." Spatula heard The Duke shifting his weight again, before murmuring, "Wha?"

He flinched. "Sorry, it was a bad exa - "

"No way, are you kidding?" The Duke burbled, and Spatula turned his head towards the younger Freedom Fighter; he'd drawn his knees up and a wide, eager grin sliced from one cheek to the next. "That's a _perfect_ analogy! It's like - like dealing with the death of a loved one."

"Like Jet?"

"Like Jet. It hurts a lot when it's fresh, when the memories are vivid and lurk just behind your eyes, tearin' at them and thrashing your ocular nerves." He drew his arms in tight and balled up his fists, a small, quivering package of logical excitement. He may be a genius for his age, but sometimes the way he acted just lent itself to the fact that he was still a child, in the end. (Though be damned if Spatula knew what 'ocular' meant.) "But since then, the more time I've put between myself and Jet dying, the more that sensation fades and stops being as...painful..." The Duke's voice drifted off, and Spatula couldn't shake the sensation that the younger Freedom Fighter had just hit another big thought that brought him closer to some sort of comfort.

"Mmm? Get struck by one of Pipsqueak's apostrophes?" He asked, hiking a brow and letting a warm grin tug up on his mouth.

"It's 'epiphany,' and yes, I have." He clambered to his feet, a delightfully ungainly, prepubescent motion that kinda made Spatula's heart tingle. "The others have been telling me the exact same thing, but I never really connected Ke to Jet before. The nausea, the nonsensical splatter that I can't outsmart, it'll get clearer if I put some distance behind it. All I need to do for now is just..."

"Accept it," Spatula finished, pushing himself back up into a sitting position. With a grunt and a bit of a struggle (he couldn't put too much weight on his left arm, it was still too weak and tender), he pushed himself upright as well, sliding his boots beneath him. "The way I figure, so long as you don't separate yourself from the fact, just acknowledging that you did it is the best way for you, personally, to cope until you can figure out that puzzle you're trying to put together." Cocking his head to one side, he said, "I believe in you. You're too good a kid to be ruined by this."

The Duke chuckled. "You're right...it's just another tree to climb. Thanks, Spatch. You're a genius."

"Hey, for you? I'll wear the genius pants any day of the week." He turned and beckoned for The Duke to follow. "Now come on. We managed to get ahold of some of those Ba Sing Se spices you like so much while resupplying for the trip back to the Fire Nation. I've got a dish of curry with your name on it."

"Feeeeee," The Duke squealed, and every display of mirth the young Freedom Fighter expressed, Spatula's heart beat even faster and his cheeks tingled in an effort to widen his grin even moreso. "You're the best."

"Ah, wasn't anything. Let's head over to the galley."

"...You know, I've been meaning to ask...how's that burn coming along?"

"Hurts. Gonna scar, we weren't all as lucky as Pipsqueak. But that's...well, it's pretty cool, I think. A reminder that I did good out there." Spatula tucked his hands into his prison uniform's pockets, his grin turning into something warmer, more content. "It means I'm worthy enough to sit next to you guys at the dining hall."

"I think you had our support on that last one already," The Duke murmured, picking his helmet up off the deck and sliding it back over his head. "Even Smellerbee respects you a pretty decent amount. That says something."

"Heh...I guess it does." He hunkered his shoulders and felt that blush wriggling across his cheeks again. If he had the Freedom Fighters' backing, then he'd not only feel worthy, he'd feel _invincible_. Just like he had after facing down those soldiers, after saving Pestle's life. It lifted him high off the ship, into the sky, the wind's cool breeze blessing him with its fortitude. "I knew it was 'apostrophe,' by the way."

"You mean 'epiphany.'"

"Dammit."


	12. Chapter 5, Part 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 5, Part 2: ...tell it truly, the ill deeds along with the good...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_One week after Sozin's Comet_

"Hey, can you see her yet?" Pipsqueak asked, craning his head back as much as he could without throwing The Duke off his shoulders.

"Who? Ty Lee, or Toph?"

"Either. Both." Pipsqueak shifted his weight, uncomfortable standing in one place in such a thick mess of people. They milled about him, closing him in, and the air of the Fire Nation was already hot and dry and kinda gross. (He'd been here once before and that little facet of weather had not changed in the last month). So add that with the combined body heat of hundreds of war heroes, three cultures' worth of nobility pressing in on all sides...

It stunk. Not just figuratively, either! The air _literally_ reeked, the stench of B.O. wafting up into his nostrils. Ugh. Gross. Come on, was it reallythat hard to rinse? Even Freedom Fighters had a sense of cleanliness about themselves, and that didn't exactly stop when they hit the open ocean. Running across that lake on the trek from Ba Sing Se to sthe small fishing town where they'd docked the Fire Nation ships was a glimmering, beautiful blessing, and supposedly the soon-to-be Fire Lord Zuko had a pretty elaborate bathroom or fifteen in that palace of his. Maybe Smellerbee would be able to convince him to lend them out, because Pipsqueak hadn't used, you know, an actual wash basin since the Fire Nation burned his home down.

It'd be a pretty nice luxury.

The palace - it rose up huge and monstrous at the head of the courtyard, an ornate, glorious piece of architecture that rose so high up that it could've brushed the sky if it wanted. Painted maroon and black with gold highlights, its roofs spread out like clam shells and golden dragons emblazoned on walls and statues of the same on edges and fringes and gates. It cast a goliath shadow across the courtyard which _should_ have cooled things down somewhat...but it didn't seem to be working. At least the palace looked nice, you know? It was majestic. Grand. In a way, beautiful; Pipsqueak hadn't had much time to admire Fire Nation architecture, and he had to admit what he _had_ seen was pretty beautiful. One day he'd like to help contribute to something that looked like this.

As for the mass of people - there was plenty of open space in the courtroom, but it was like everybody just felt the urge to cluster together in this one spot just outta annoyance. Maybe they thought there was a snack bar nearby, and near everybody here decided to hunt it down at the same time. They just kept shoving into Pipsqueak like he wasn't there - and it's kinda hard to think that of a guy his size. If he could just get out of this mess - find a way to the front of the courtyard where the crowd had mostly dispersed...he doubted Ty Lee - and Toph - would be in this thicket of walking stink bombs, so it'd just be a matter of finding a path out of here.

Worming, squeezing, The Duke clinging to his head, Pipsqueak pushed his way through the mire of men and women and children, resisting the urge to pinch his nose (he'd smelled ostrich horses with more pleasant stinkthan this). And - yes - push between two Swampbenders, and - _ah!_ Free! He stumbled away, the throng behind them, brushing their way through a much thinner crowd. The B.O. wasn't as bad here - not nearly as concentrated. Bearable. Now it was just a matter of hunting down -

"Hey! The Duke, Pipsqueak!"

Pipsqueak felt his chest tighten; he turned, on instinct, perhaps a bit too hard; The Duke cried out, Pipsqueak felt his pal's grip slide down the sides of his wrestling helmet before clamping back down again. "Sorry, The Duke," Pipsqueak mumbled, looking around for - it had to be Ty Lee, didn't it? But - didn't sound like her - and something moved, came to a stop at the bottom of his vision. He glanced down, and Teo sat there, a grin on his face and goggles slid up onto his forehead. Beh. Teo was a good kid, but...well, he wasn't Ty Lee. Pipsqueak tried his best to mask the disappointment.

"Hey, Teo!" The Duke called, pushing himself up onto Pipsqueak's shoulder and hopping down to the ground. "What's going on?"

"Well..." He furrowed his brow, a thoughtful frown pulling on the corners of his mouth. Glancing away and scratching a cheek with a bandage-wrapped finger, he said, "I've been thinking. I...had a lot of fun. Being a Freedom Fighter. Helping you make plans, designing those worm-tanks we used at the invasion, trying to make peanut-sauce bombs...heck, just hanging out with you. It's never a dull moment." He glanced back up, catching Pipsqueak's attention for a moment before turning his gaze back to The Duke. "I spoke to my father about it, and we both think it's a good leading...a way of life I would like to follow up on. Just...right now's not a good time for me. I need to go back to the Northern Air Temple. To celebrate. To be with my family and friends, you know?"

The Duke beamed. "Yeah. I know exactly what you mean, believe me. Becoming a Freedom Fighter is a full-time commitment. You do what you have to do."

"I think I can rig up a lift that'll accommodate your wheelchair," Pipsqueak murmured, thumbing his jaw and glancing up to the sky. The disappointment onset by Teo not being Ty Lee evaporated, absorbed by the thought of building something like that. Sure, they had an industrial lift for hauling food up to the trees from Skillet's kitchen, but that thing was pretty heavy-duty. Designing one with more finesse, meant to handle lighter loads...it'd be fun. "That way you'd get to see the hideout something proper."

"Awesome," Teo replied, and from the corner of his eyes, Pipsqueak saw him flash a thumbs-up. "Anyway - I'd better get going, dad's waiting for me. He wants to hear more stories from when we were on the road."

"Sure thing, Teo." The Duke crossed his arms over his chest. "The door's open any time you want in."

"Thanks." With that, he wheeled about and pushed away, sliding between the assembled people with the grace and ease of an eel salmon.

"You know," The Duke said, voice swelling, "I feel a lot better about Ba Sing Se now. I mean - not really in regards to what I did...but the overall result."

"Yeah?" The pair started walking again, continuing their search; even over the sound of people mingling, shuffling, moving around, Pipsqueak could pick up the tiny scraping sounds of The Duke's footsteps. His boots scuffed on the rough inlaid stone arranged in an intricate, swirling pattern of gray-browns and brown-reds to curl into a majestic ball of flame, licking towards the head of the courtyard.

"Yeah. I made a difference." The Duke glanced up at his friend and grinned. "We all did. But I helped bring this together, you know? I got Teo, Hakoda, Chit-Sang and Mai on our side, and they all contributed something to the war."

"What about Haru?" Pipsqueak hiked an eyebrow. "He helped out too, you know."

"Erm, yeah. Him." The Duke turned his attention to the ground and placed a hand on the back of his helmet. "We had a bit of a disagreement before we got into Ba Sing Se. I won't deny that he contributed, but that doesn't stop him from being a jerkbelly."

"Kept treating you like a kid, didn't he?" The giant felt a frown pull down on his face, and as he exhaled through his nose, his chest and throat tingled. It happened on occasion, but only outside the boundaries of those who lived in the forest. He understood where the impression came from, it wasn't like The Duke looked old for his age despite how smart he was, but when people got to know him, they usually stopped acting that way towards him.

Haru was the exception, it looked.

"And he kept dropping my 'The.'" His lip curled and he shook his head, hand dropping to his side. "Outside Ba Sing Se, he kept saying demeaning things, like how I should stay behind, how I was safer staying with the noncombatants. He wasn't doing it out of spite, but I called him out on it anyway. It...didn't end well. I just tried not to let it get to me after that."

Ah...that was just like The Duke, wasn't it? His frown warmed, shifted into a grin, and a swell of pride rose up into his chest. Resting a ham-sized hand onto The Duke's head, Pipsqueak said, "You done good. You earned the right to feel proud of yourself. And...I'm proud of you, too."

The Duke grinned. "Thanks, Pipsqueak."

So occupied with their conversation, not really paying attention to where they were going, The Duke plowed right into the back of...of somebody, sending both reeling and crashing to the ground. The Duke grunted, but the one he bumped wasn't so reserved about it.

"_Ow!_ That hurt, jerk! Watch where you're going - "

Toph Bei Fong pushed up to her feet, fists clenched - and stopped short. Pipsqueak really didn't understand how she got around her blindness with Earthbending, but The Duke had described it as "tremor sense;" she could use vibrations through the ground to perceive where people were, and she had a good sense of hearing. It was weird. Hard to wrap his mind around it.

He'd have to give it time, like people who didn't know The Duke needed time to understand him.

"Hey, The Duke," Toph said, walking over to the young Freedom Fighter. She thrust a small, muscular hand out to him; The Duke glanced up and took it, grinning. Toph hoisted him up to his feet - made it look easy, and judging by the muscles bulging in her arms, it probably was. Even though she was so young. She drew The Duke into a hug, and Pipsqueak crossed his arms over his chest, beaming. "And Pipsqueak. It's good to see you guys again. How was the City of Rules and Yuppies? You'd better have kicked a lot of butt, or I'll be disappointed."

"Consider those butts sufficiently kicked," The Duke replied. It wasn't hard to tell that he was dancing around the subject of Ke; understandable, sure, but Pipsqueak could tell how much he wanted to let it out of him, how he wanted to tell Toph...

...Oh. Okay, yeah, that made sense. Letting a small grin tug on his lips, Pipsqueak crooked his head and said, "Look, you two have a lot to talk about; I'm gonna try hunting down Ty Lee. I'll catch up with you when the ceremony starts, okay?"

The Duke glanced back over his shoulder and nodded, relief, appreciation too easy to see on his face. Pipsqueak had been dead-on. Good. He turned from The Duke and Toph, continuing his search. With Toph found - harder to discover, being so short - all that left was Ty Lee, and she ought to be with the other Kyoshi Warriors. So just look for the robes and face paint, right? Shouldn't be too hard, there were enough of them to stand out in a crowd.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"...and that's what happened," The Duke finished, craning his head back and sighing, the sky ripe and blue and beautiful overhead. The pair sat against a sun baked wall in the courtyard, off to the side - private, so nobody could nose their way into their conversation. He preferred it this way, because it meant he could get some solitude with Toph. "It's the first time I've ever killed anyone and I'm trying to put distance between it and me. Trying to get a good perspective on it. Trying to understand it."

Toph nodded, her expression neutral, her green-white eyes hidden beneath her bangs. "I think you're going about it the right way. You're not being an Angsthead McButtpants about it. I...don't know if I'd have your strength. I've never killed anyone before. Never been in a situation where I've had to. But you _do_ know you did what was necessary, right? You saved Smellerbee's life."

"Yeah." The Duke nodded and sighed through his nose. It never got any easier telling anyone about this, and so far only Spatula had been of help. Which wasn't to say his other friends didn't try, it's just...it didn't wind up working. Toph, though...well, she might be different. She sounded like she was following in Spatula's footsteps, and having another person who could really get behind him would be...nice.

"I'm sure she appreciates it," Toph continued. "She worked too hard to get where she is, to move past Jet. You definitely did good in keeping her alive. The world needs all the Freedom Fighters it can get." The Duke glanced at her again, and saw that her mouth had perked up into a grin. She waved a hand to the crowd amassed in the courtyard, so close, but so distant with the isolation they had between them. "Speaking of...I'll need a place to go after this all has died out. You know, the ceremonious stuff."

The Duke nodded, murmuring a soft, "Yeah," before doing a double-take; he whipped his head around to the blind Earthbender with his eyebrows raised. "Wait, what - ?"

"The way I see things, I've got two options open for my future." Toph brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin between them. "One, I do what everyone else is doing. Aang is the Avatar. Zuko is the Fire Lord. Sokka's lined up to be the Southern Water Chieftain at some point. Katara's...well, Katara's Katara. All of them are interested in contributing to the war's fallout politically, which means stuffy delegation meetings, snobby politicians, enough red tape to choke a sky bison...that's not my scene. The other option is to continue living like I did with the rest, but exploring the world alone is only so much fun, you know? I...I think you guys have the right idea. I like your style. Why sit and chat to solve problems when you can go out there and manhandle the situation like it's a rabid gorilla bee that needs to be put in its place?" She pounded a fist into her palm and grinned. "Besides...I think a long-distance relationship would be kinda hard to follow up on."

A blush squirmed to life on her cheeks, a tiny smile pulling up on the corners of her mouth. The Duke shook his head, blinking, trying to - to wrap his head around what she'd said - and his heart thundered away against his ribs. He suddenly felt, felt _light_, like if he stood up too fast he'd rocket straight off the planet's surface, like he would fly, and he'd pull loopdeeloops through the sky, brushing the clouds with his fingertips...

"You - you mean...?"

"Yeah." Toph unfurled herself, and - and before The Duke realized it, she'd leaned into him, her lips hot and rough and _aaaaa_ against his cheek, there and gone in an instant, but it lasted forever, her breath stroking his face, the moment slowed and the world blurred, the people in the courtyard moving in freeze-frame snapshots, and, and, and, _wow_...

Heat rushed up into The Duke's cheeks, ears, and he clutched a hand to his chest, panting. "Um. Um, wow. Wow."

Toph chuckled, lowering her head. "It...won't be right away. Iroh's invited us to meet at the Jasmine Dragon - his tea shop - in Ba Sing Se. About a week from now. And then I gotta go home to Gaoling, and deal with my family...I haven't seen them since I ran away to train Aang. I don't know how well they'll take me coming back. My father has always been too overprotective, and I don't want that to get in the way of who I've become."

The Duke - despite the haze of joy that had overcome him, the buzzing thrill stippling along his arms, his legs, his stomach - nodded, an understanding bordering on clarity implanting itself in his mind. Just like Teo. There was stuff that needed to be attended to on a personal level before the next stage in their lives could begin. "I understand. It's important, you know? You might not get another chance to reconcile with them."

"If...if you'd like..." Toph planted her hands on the ground, palms down and fingers splayed. "You can come with me. To the Jasmine Dragon. To my home."

His stomach lurched, that would be, it would be _incredible_, he'd love to, he'd _love_ to, to be with her, to enjoy her presence, the scent of earth she exhumed, strong and unyielding, just like her personality. To admire her, every aspect, from her beautiful, milk-colored eyes, to her rough bangs, the muscles bulging beneath her skin, to the dirt caked on her feet...

...but.

Like Teo and Toph, The Duke had to attend to personal matters first. He closed his eyes, shook his head and said, "It would be incredible. I'd be thrilled. But..."

"Yeah," Toph said, sage understanding in her voice. "You have things to see to as a Freedom Fighter. Dead to bury. Jet."

"He never got a proper funeral," The Duke admitted. "We've been so harried since leaving the forest in the first place that all we could ever do was pay respect in our mind. Smellerbee is going to use his swords to build a grave marker. Losing a Freedom Fighter is never easy, never gets simpler to deal with. But Jet..."

"He'd be proud of you, The Duke."

He opened his eyes and glanced over to Toph, who had her head craned back, her bangs casting shadows across the top half of her face. Framed by the impressive, fantastic backdrop of the Fire Nation's royal palace, she looked stunning...then again, she would in almost any situation, wouldn't she? "You think he would?"

"Of course." Toph grinned, punched him hard in the bicep; he rocked, grunted, a light laugh fluttering up from his throat. She rested her head against the wall behind them, closing her eyes. "He raised you well, and you did a lot to help win the war. I betcha, if he could see you now, see what you did at Ba Sing Se...there's no doubt in my mind."

"Heh." The Duke blushed again, his cheeks tingling. "Thanks, Toph."

Silence settled over them, and The Duke was content with that...he kinda understood, now, how Longshot and Smellerbee did it. Sometimes, you didn't need to verbalize things. Just being in each others' company was enough. Before he could really get comfortable with it though, really bask in the experience, Toph pushed herself into a more upright sitting position, a ghost-sigh escaping her lips. "People are starting to organize in the middle of the court...Zuko and Aang must be ready to do their thing." She hefted herself up to her feet, The Duke unfurling himself upward beside her, although hesitantly. "Come on. Let's go be heroes."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

It took a few minutes of searching - the heat pounding down from all around, sweat forming on his brow, wet and uncomfortable and contributing to the lingering _yuck_ sensation cast off by the mosh pit of people back against the opposite side of the courtyard. Sure enough, though, he spotted Ty Lee with the other Kyoshi, her prison uniform exchanged for the green and brown robes and armor that served as a signature to the group, her face painted white with crimson spread on her lips and rising up in triangles above her eyes, sweeping back to her temples. She kept her hair up in that fantastic, luxurious braid of hers, hanging down to the small of her back, but a gold-colored headband obscured her hairline now, that hadn't been part of her look back before she...

...before she chose the Kyoshi.

She'd need somewhere to go following the war's end. She wasn't politically tied like Mai or Zuko, because she was just a member of the nobility; she could go wherever she wanted, her life was her own to live, much like a Freedom Fighter's. Much like the Kyoshi.

Pipsqueak wasn't blind. He just hadn't gotten to her soon enough; Suki had already approached her about joining the Kyoshi, and she'd accepted, before Pipsqueak could even extend an invitation to the Freedom Fighters. In a way, it was his own fault that their paths would have to split.

Didn't make it easier to deal with.

Clenching his teeth together to keep them from clattering, and, and all of a sudden, his arms felt jittery, and the oppressing heat got swallowed up in a tidal wave of cold, frothing and sloshing and oh Spirits his stomach just, tumbled, flopping around like a salmon trout left on the ground after being caught. It shouldn't be this hard, he'd spoken to Ty Lee before, she wasn't anything special (even though she was just the opposite), it should be easy. It should - just, grit those teeth, swallow the lump rising up in your throat...yeah, there you go. Get it under control. Okay, good. Okay. Let's, let's just get this over with...

He started slow - put one foot out in front of the other, good, that works. He drew a slow, steadying breath, cool against his tongue and throat, and even though every footfall felt heavy and clumsy, like his boots had been filled with hardened concrete, he made progress - and before he knew it, he stood at the edge of the assembled warriors, skilled, agile, nimble; definitely in line with Ty Lee's type. Suki was the first to spot him, and she waved; they'd only met fleetingly, maybe a couple minutes at most when she and Sokka were making the rounds with the other members of the Invasion, but - well, Pipsqueak guessed he had a memorable face.

"Heya," he said, holding up a hand. Okay, man - just try to keep a cool head. Don't bungle this. You can do it. The girls who didn't have their attention on him already turned his way; none of them started, none of them jumped back instinctively...they knew him, at least, so he wasn't the Scary Big Guy to them. They could have taken care of themselves if Pipsqueak tried taking them on, no doubt about it, but that didn't stop other people who were just as battle-ready from looking at him with mistrust. It was too common a problem, so avoiding it here made this situation at least _kinda_ easier to handle. "Um - can I borrow Ty Lee for a sec?" Yeah, yeah - that's good, that's nice and casual, isn't it? Wait, what if she felt like she was being objectified when he said 'borrow?' Oh man, this could turn out very bad and he'd only just started and what if he'd put his foot in his mouth.

Ty Lee stole a quick glance to Suki before turning to Pipsqueak; she broke away from the other Kyoshi, eyebrows hiked and a curious frown on her round face. Pipsqueak led her a few yards away, where they could talk without anyone overhearing, and oh man, oh man, his heart slammed against his chest, he could feel his pulse raging behind his ears, in his neck, his wrists, and (_please _don't screw this up, you only got one chance_..._)

"What's up, Pipsqueak?" The question fell from her as soon as they came to a stop, and Pipsqueak turned to face the acrobat, bringing his hands up in front of his stomach without realizing it; he began wringing them, pulling at his fingers and pressing his palms together. She blinked and let an easy smile cross her face, her eyes wide and sparkling and brown and warm, and. Before he could answer, Ty Lee crooked her head to the side, that puzzled frown on her face all over again. "Are you okay? You look like you have a cold."

"Ah - um - yeah. A cold." Pipsqueak's gaze flitted away for a moment, before returning to her, and then dropping down to the ground, to their feet..."Um. I just - I wanted to say - " Say that you _like_ her, doofus, that you - you wanna...that you respect her, that she was the first person to meet him and take such an instant liking to him, that... "I wanted to let you know that I'm happy you've found a place with the Kyoshi."

Nerts.

Ty Lee's gaze softened, and she wrapped her gloved hands around Pipsqueak's, stilling them; Pipsqueak let his eyes drift up again, heat squirming up to his face, his heart beat so hard that he was surprised she didn't hear it...

"I know you wanted me to join the Freedom Fighters," she said, her voice hushed. "Longshot did, too, but...I get the feeling you wanted it for different reasons."

"I...yeah," He mumbled, letting his gaze drift away again. "You're the first girl I've ever met that wasn't intimidated of me as soon as she saw me. A guy like me...I'm pretty scary-looking until you get to know me."

She crooked her head again, sympathy pulling a grin onto her face. "I figured. But...I'm like that with everyone. Don't get me wrong - you're a great person and your aura is a beautiful shade of blue, and if I hadn't chosen to travel with the Kyoshi Warriors, I would have _loved_ to join the Freedom Fighters. But...you're just not my type. And I know that sounds - sounds pretty bad...but..." Pipsqueak swore, through the face paint, that Ty Lee blushed. "It's not something you can help. And it's _really_ not something I can help. That's all.:

Pipsqueak nodded, ears so warm they started to go numb, and, and all he could do was nod, muted, as hushed as Longshot. Yeah. Okay, that was...well, what else could he expect, really? They hadn't known each other all that long; a month, if that, and while they'd gotten to share _some_ of that time together, a lot of it had been spent on the boat ride to Ba Sing Se...and Ty Lee had taken advantage of that to catch up with Mai. There hadn't been a whole lot of opportunity, and...and, he wasn't grasping at straws, was he...? Was it really just a crush?

...Wait.

_Ohhh_.

His eyes widened as understanding dawned on him - and Ty Lee nodded, fixing him with a helpless grin.

"Look - I won't be able to leave the Kyoshi, I just joined and I want to learn from them and they've really become my friends." Ty Lee smiled, eyebrows lowered into narrow arches. "But that doesn't mean I can't stop by to say hello now and then."

He nodded again, and felt his mouth work - but words didn't come out, paralyzed somewhere between his brain and lips, and he had to clear his throat to get them moving again. "Okay. Okay, I can do that."

Ty Lee nodded, beamed, released his hands - and like that, gone, absorbed by the warriors and nobles that had begun to assemble for Zuko's coronation.

Ah, well. At least he'd made one helluva friend.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_"Look, you know I won't force you...but I'd still like it if you could join us."_

Pestle had tried not to pull a face - tried to mask her, her disgust at the thought of actually _going_ into the Fire Nation capital, setting foot on Fire Nation soil. (She couldn't help but imagine that, as soon as she did, her soles would catch fire, just as a matter of course, a physical allergy.) It had taken all her willpower, but...well, judging by the sad twinge in Smellerbee's eyes that had flitted in and out for just a moment, she probably hadn't done a very good job.

Whatever.

Smellerbee was nuts if she thought Pestle'd be able to 'get over this' so quickly - that maybe she'd felt some sort of lingering remorse for ditching Spatula in Ba Sing Se, or gratified by how he'd saved her, or, or...ugh, it was hard to think of anything else! That last bit - someone from the enemy _saving_ her, after what they'd done to Mortar - it, it, it made her face get hot and her back sticky and her throat swell shut. He'd gotten hurt - gotten burned - trying to keep Pestle outta harm's way, and it wasn't _enough_. An eye for an eye? What a fucking joke. No injury would make up for her loss; no single life in exchange would bring Mortar back.

So, as much as Pestle hated being on this awful, metal boat, a pervasive monstrosity splitting the water with its unnatural presence, it was a smorgzillion times better than disembarking.

It was so _hot_ here, too! She shifted her weight, staring out at the open sea over the guard rail (because looking the other way meant deigning the foul continent with her full attention), and shook out one leg. Unbearable, insufferable - stifling, making her eyes swim and her head throb, her clothes cling to her skin.

"How does anyone stand to visit, let alone _live_ here?" She growled, bowing her head and glaring at the waves below. "This place sucks!"

"It's not _that_ bad, if you give it a chance."

Pestle's throat clenched, heart slamming against her ribcage; she grit her teeth and whirled around, took an Earthbending stance, ready to, to - nobody else was supposed to be here!

"Hey, take it easy!" Spatula backstepped, eyes wide, hands raised up. "I'm just - I'm here to grab some grub before I head up to the ceremony."

Scowling, the Earthbender (reluctantly) relaxed her stance, letting her arms fall to her sides. "Don't - jeez - don't sneak up on me like that! You're lucky there isn't any earth around for me to - "

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. I know." Spatula lowered his arms and shrugged. His yellow gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting hers again, his jaw working - trying to find words, something that'd fit, something that might not set her off - good freaking luck with that. At last, he sighed, turned away and said, "I kinda hoped..."

She saw his hand drift up to the opposite elbow - wrapped in gauze, salve glistening above and below the bandages. He'd finally shucked the Pan Xing uniform for some proper clothes - scarlet and adobe, colors of the _enemy_, a short-sleeved tunic and black pants. He shook his head as he murmured, "Nevermind. I just wanted to tell you that I'm not mad at you for abandoning me in Ba Sing Se."

She crossed her arms over her chest and snorted. "So it was more than just coming to eat, huh? Fuck you, I don't want your permission to feel sorry. I don't need it."

Spatula tensed up; he whirled around, and, yeah, despite his words, he was _angry_, his eyes narrowed and face red, his topknot bobbing as he seethed. "No. Believe it or not, the world _does not revolve around you._ I sincerely came back for food, and even though I didn't figure I'd run into you, I thought I should at least man up and forgive you. It's not my style to hold a grudge. I'm sorry to hear about Mortar, I really am, but just because a Fire Nation renegade murdered her doesn't mean you should treat _me_ with the same contempt. If you want to take my sincerity and throw it back in my face, then all power to you - I can't stop that." He jabbed a finger at his chest, baring his teeth. "But don't blame me for the actions of a lunatic who enslaved and subjugated children! People like that make me _ashamed_ to be Fire Nation, and they're the reason why I defected in the first place! I put myself at risk to protect you, to prove that we're not all bad, and..." he drew a deep breath, physically relaxing, before turning towards the galley again. "Well, I guess it was a wasted lesson. That still doesn't change the fact that I forgive you. You don't have to accept it right away...but it's there, and hopefully one day you'll acknowledge it."

Pestle furrowed her brow, her chest tight, ears hot - what, when did _he_ grow a pair? How dare he chew her out like that? It was like dealing with Smellerbee all over again - he didn't understand, didn't know her loss, and, and, he was _denying_ her the right to feel remorse, to miss Mortar, to, to, to - "ARGH! You're such a dingbat! Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can't feel?" The words had, had exploded outward, outside, in the air before she could rein them in, hanging heavy and loud like a tree falling over and crashing into the ground. For a moment, she felt - relieved, that the pressure was _out_, no longer swelling against her ribs...but as soon as that subsided, her mind thrummed, realizing - he hadn't really said anything like that at all, had he...?

He didn't face her this time; instead, he just glanced over his shoulder and met her with a sad gaze. "I'm fortunate compared to the rest of you. My family is still alive; I didn't lose any of them to the war, and I've still got siblings stationed at sea or in the Earth Kingdom territories. My parents are mid-upper class citizens that have never engaged in a fist-fight, let alone set foot on a battlefield. They're...nice people. Opinionated, though. When Lowly Corporal Sheng deserted the army, when I took the name Spatula...I didn't realize that, in leaving my old life behind me, my parents would do the exact same. I'm not at the ceremony _now_ because I'd gone up to visit them; I haven't seen them in over three years, and imagine my surprise when they refused to let me on the property, telling me from afar that I wasn't welcome, that I wasn't their son, that I didn't deserve to wear this topknot. It sucks knowing that...that even though you did the right thing, tried to make up for the screw-ups of your entire nation with all of your being, that it's not good enough for the people that mean the most to you. Then again, I suppose..." he brought his attention back to the command tower, craning his head back, following it up to the top. "...my family that _isn't_ bloodbound is pretty important too."

Pestle drew a hot, deep breath, the salted air mingling with the rancid, acrid stench of metal, of burning coal, of oil, crushing her nose, making her upper lip curl. The blazing heat squeezed her tight, making her breath come out shorter and her brow start to sweat, choking her. What - what do you say to something like that...? It wasn't the same - that was just the inverse of what every Freedom Fighter had! At least Spatula could keep appealing to his family, he had that opportunity, he still had the chance to sort things out with them, still had...

"I'm sorry," he murmured, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'm just - you caught me in a bad mood, is all. I'm heading up to the capital now; hopefully I haven't missed the booze, because I need whiskey like a bandit. I'll catch you later."

He shuffled towards the gang plank - going right past the galley (if it was because he'd forgotten after the haze of their argument, or he'd lied about the whole thing as an excuse to talk to her, she didn't know, didn't care), and just before he disappeared, she saw his spatula tucked into his sash...his portable spine. Well, that explained why he'd been able to...to see his folks, to forgive her, to argue with her...

She shook her head and slumped back against the railing, sliding down to the deck. Why did he have to go and keep Doing the Right Thing? Didn't he know that it'd just - it'd made things worse, and - and, she brought her knees up to her chest, burying her face in them. His kind killed Mortar, they were barbarians and animals and monsters...and she _hated_ him for it, she _did_, but so much of the stuff he'd done in the past few minutes was so...so normal, so human, and why did he have to _confuse_ her like that?

"Mortar...what would you have done...?" She sighed, closed her eyes, and focused on the sound of the ocean sloshing up against the shore and the ship's hull.


	13. Chapter 5, Part 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 5, Part 3: ...and let me be judged accordingly.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_One week after Sozin's Comet_

The war was over, the Avatar had won, and as Smellerbee had predicted, the pieces fell into place. With an era of peace on the horizon (the very _distant_ horizon, if history was any indication; it'd take years, if not decades for the world to find resolution following the war), the Freedom Fighters no longer had a solid entity to, well, _fight_. The consensus amongst the Freedom Fighters as a whole...those who had survived, anyway, and those of the Day of Black Sun invasion force who decided to return to Hong Ye notwithstanding, was that the idea of becoming a band of mercenaries better suited their lifestyle and beliefs for the group, and that becoming an official military branch was distasteful. That was fine. Smellerbee preferred this road anyway.

The way everyone behaved - by everyone, she meant Northern Water Chieftain Arnook, Zuko, Bumi, Pakku, Iroh, Katara, Sokka, Toph and Aang - left her feeling dumbstruck; every last one of them believed that because the war had ended that peace would assuredly follow in its wake. That historical information from before? The others were turning the other cheek to it, and only Hakoda, the chief of the Southern Water Tribe, seemed to be immune to the blather Zuko and Aang spouted in front of the crowd out in the courtyard of the Fire Nation palace. Maybe it was because they were relieved that the bulk of the fighting was no longer a concern. Smellerbee understood that; she'd be an idiot denying the same feeling leaving tingling pinpricks through her veins, but things just wouldn't work out so beautifully.

She couldn't see much from her position, but she heard Zuko and Aang's shared speech with sharp clarity; hunkering down on polished wooden crossbeams interlaced above the entrance hall to the palace, the Freedom Fighter narrowed her eyes as the words, "All hail Fire Lord Zuko!" rebounded back towards her, followed by the deafening roar of cheers and applause. She let her mouth quirk up in a grin. He might be ignorant of what laid ahead of him, but Zuko was a hell of a guy. He'd gotten his act together, he'd picked the right path to follow, and Smellerbee felt a bubble of pride swelling inside her chest, knowing she'd been a part of that. A part of making things right. She'd be sure to rub it in his face later on.

The other Freedom Fighters were out there. They cheered, they absorbed the jubilation and really threw themselves into it. Good. They deserved it. She really wanted to be there with them, to be a part of something so fantastic, but she had to attend to business before she could let the ecstasy overrun her. After all, two of her future most well-paying clients would cross the shimmering threshold of the entrance hall at any moment, the floor made of polished hickory, the walls draped with ornate, crimson curtains and tapestries depicting gold, blue, red, yellow dragons, dragons of all colors, intertwining in an eloquent, sinewy dance.

As the rumbling support continued to boom loud enough to shake the crossbeams beneath her, she saw a pair of shadows approaching from the dais outside; true enough, Aang and Zuko filtered into view, making a casual pace into what would probably lead to the palace's innards. Zuko had abandoned both the tattered Earth Kingdom robes from their first encounter as well as the armor of Fire Nation royalty; instead, he garbed himself in flowing maroon regalia, robes in the truest sense that swished and rippled around him. A scaled, black mantle with gold trim adorned his shoulders, and he'd pulled his hair back into the same topknot she'd seen him wearing in Omashu, which now bore a golden, metal crest in the shape of a curling fire. Aang, beside him, wore his own robes, ochre in color, hanging loosely from his skinny frame. A wood pendant dangled from his neck, three swirl marks etched into it.

Smellerbee waited. She needed to prove a point, needed to show them just how their lackadaisical attitude could be more detrimental than not. Her entrance would be the key, it'd be the starting point, and from there they'd listen to her...probably not at first, but as long as they did _somewhere_ along the line, then that was okay. They needed a good slap to the face and she'd be more than happy to deliver it.

They talked to each other, none too quietly (but what they were saying didn't really matter at this point), making way back into the palace's guts. Then, they were directly beneath her, and past, and she waited a few seconds before pushing away from the crossbeam, flipping, the wind ruffling her clothes and combing through her shaggy hair. She landed silently, one hand pressed against the ground, one knee tucked into her chest and the opposite leg splayed out behind her. The glossed stone was cold and unyielding beneath her fingertips, and even though the booming support from outside had quelled for the most part, some lingering cheers resonated against her, a dull vibrating sensation working up to her joints.

Unfurling herself, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the backs of the Fire Lord and the Avatar. They hadn't even noticed! Good kids they might be, and they might hold two of the most important titles in the political world, but this wasn't acceptable at all. She felt irritation scraping her back, right between her shoulder blades, and a scowl threatened to slash across her face, but - no, keep calm, Bee, don't let them see it or else they might take it the wrong way.

Drawing a deep breath through her nose, she exhaled, let her shoulders fall, and said loudly enough for the retreating teens to hear, "You know - your security isn't all that tight, Fire Lord."

The pair of them whirled around, Zuko tense and ready to fall into a fighting stance - before realizing who she was. She could see the recognition in his eyes, and he relaxed, his shoulders drooping and an audible sigh escaping from his lips. "Smellerbee. What are you doing here?"

"Hey!" Aang beamed, eyes sparkling in the sunlight filtering from the courtroom. He walked over to her, arms splayed out. "So you really _did_ survive Ba Sing Se!"

She smirked - that roguish one she'd inherited from Jet, and it helped quelsh the annoyance a bit, kept it from gnawing at her. Tilting her head, her hair flopping over one eye, she said, "Hey, Freedom Fighters don't die that easy. You know us better than that, Aang."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I do. At least allow me the benefit of a doubt, huh?"

"What I'm curious about," Zuko said, irritation subtle and sharp lurking under his voice, "is how you got in here without us knowing."

Smellerbee snorted, her smirk failing. "I snuck past fifteen elite guards, six priests, your entourage of coronators, Aang, _you_, and an entire crowd of war veterans standing outside right now. Like I said, you have too many gaps open."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, eyes narrowing. "You're such a pest! First you threaten to kill me after I help you in Omashu, and now you sneak up on me like you're some kind of assassin - "

"Which is my _point_." Smellerbee unfurled her arms and walked over to him with Aang in her wake, his footsteps light and swift. Alright, yeah, he'd be stubborn about it. She had enough experience dealing with Sneers to know that Zuko would be as obnoxious as possible before yielding. "How much do you know about war history? And I mean overall, not just this one."

"Erm - well - where do you want me to start? It's not like I can sum it up in one sentence."

She sighed and shook her head. "Look. The war is over and there's a _massive_ void left by you deposing Ozai and Azula. There are going to be people you need to watch out for, people you're blind to in the wake of this new 'era of love and peace' you're so squishy about." Holding up two fingers on her right hand, she narrowed her eyes, meeting his glistening gold ones, exuding an air of quashed affront. "You've got two kinds to worry about. First, loyalists; there are people who will support the ideals your father, sister, and Long Feng have set up. They'll come gunning for you full-bore. The war is over, yeah, but there'll be so many battles in the fallout that you wont get your love _or_ peace until all those tiny disputes are resolved."

"And the other?" Zuko was goading her, trying to undermine her somehow; all power to him. He wouldn't get anywhere. Her case had enough grounding that it'd be like trying to tip over an elephant moose. While drunk. With one leg tied behind your back. Blindfolded.

"Assassins, like you said." Smellerbee crossed her arms over her chest again. "If I could get past all those people without being noticed...I'm damn good at being stealthy, but I'm nowhere _near_ the best. They'll come after any key figureheads involved directly with the war and its' end. You two and your traveling buddies - Katara, Sokka and Toph in particular - are all prime targets. And don't think Ozai and Azula are out of harm's reach, either, because there _will_ be those who seek revenge for all the suffering they've been forced to endure. If Iroh was skilled enough to break out of Spiral Prison using brute force and basic strategies, then there's no stopping anyone equally as talented from getting in."

"I..." Aang rubbed the back of his head, turning his gaze at the ground. "I don't know. The monks never had us study war, because we were detaching ourselves from the material world and tried to stay away from that sort of conflict. I didn't used to think people could really be that bad, but all I ever knew before Katara and Sokka found me was a world that hadn't been sundered by something like this." He shifted his attention to Smellerbee, and she returned it, his brow furrowed. "You would be the most knowledgeable out of the three of us, I guess."

She heard Zuko take a deep breath, and then another; turning to him, she saw his eyes flicker left and right. Those gears were definitely working, and...well, it'd be nice if this actually worked out so quickly. So far he'd shown that he wasn't an ass...but he'd yet to prove receptive. Hopefully the new version of Zuko had that capacity, too.

"...Okay. Point taken." Zuko met Smellerbee's eyes, and they no longer gleamed with any sort of malcontent. "What do you propose?"

"You'll need help. An intelligence network that can get into all the tiny areas your own guys would miss. A group that can go anywhere without drawing suspicion, sniffing out even the tiniest plans that are meant to counteract your goal. Mercenaries that can carry out dirty work the Fire Lord and the Avatar can't sully their hands with." Smellerbee cocked her head to the side. "The Freedom Fighters don't have a solid entity to fight against anymore and that means our ability to support ourselves has gone nil. In short, we need funding and you need eyes, ears and hands that can get bloodied."

"That...that sounds like a solid plan to me," Aang admitted, bringing one hand up to the pendant hanging from his neck and rubbing it between a forefinger and thumb. "She's right, Zuko. We can't go fight the small battles anymore. And we can't do certain things because it's more important for us to stay clean, or else anyone opposing us has ammunition."

"I guess that comes with the territory for being a diplomat," Zuko murmured, a slight grin fluttering across his face. "Okay. We have a deal. You set up that intelligence ring, and if I need you for a bigger mission, you'll be the first to know. We'll pound out an appropriate fee when the time comes."

"I don't have a whole lot of money," Aang admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "I only really keep enough on me to get by. Food, a place to sleep, supplies..."

"We'll find a solution, I'm sure." Smellerbee smiled, and struggled to keep back the giddiness that threatened to overcome her. She'd taken the next step and they'd agreed with so little fuss. Hakoda and the White Lotus were on her side too. Already the future looked bright for the Freedom Fighters; even without the immediate promise of love and peace and blah blah blah, at least they'd be able to get by and survive. "Anyway, go on and have fun with your whatever you were doing. I've got some celebrating to do. And by celebrating I mean drinking myself under the table, so if you need me you'll know where to find me."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_One week, two days after Sozin's Comet_

"Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" Kuei glanced up from his position kneeling over Bosco, running a thick brush through the bear's fur. It was actually kind of adorable, how much the former Earth King pampered the creature. Smellerbee let the tiniest of smiles drift across her face as she plopped down beside the two of them. "What's going on?"

"I'm a little curious about something." Smellerbee reached up and scratched Bosco behind the ear; the bear purred (the Freedom Fighter didn't think bears _could_ purr) and slouched forward, resting his head on its paws. "You were just outside Ba Sing Se. With the war over, you could have returned to take the throne...but you didn't. Here you are, on a ship heading further inland than your city of walls and secrets. There's going to be a void to fill, and a power struggle - something that's gonna affect the populous. So...why?"

"..." Kuei set the brush down to the side and took to stroking Bosco's fur by hand. His expression sobered and his gaze went distant...something about that unsettled the swordswoman. He wasn't scrabbling for an answer, he hadn't gotten defensive or flustered...he already knew his response, and he was having trouble bringing himself to say it. Still, Smellerbee waited; nothing good would come of prodding him, because he needed to come out with it on his own accord.

The silence that had settled between them wasn't _true_ silence; Smellerbee could still hear the ship's engine thrumming, even from on the deck, the roar of the ocean as the ship's hull parted its waves, and the squawking of squirrel gulls coasting above the ship. The smell of burning charcoal, grease and metal were pungent and artificial, and after having spent most of the last month on one of these Spirits-damned monstrosities, she absolutely longed for something that smelled and sounded natural. Give her the whispering leaves and delectable aroma of cinnamon (because it _would_ start to smell like cinnamon by now) from Hong Ye forest any day of the week. It would be such a relief to be off these things.

At last, Kuei murmured, "I can't go back."

"Huh?"

"I can't go back," Kuei insisted, meeting Smellerbee's gaze, brows knit. "I may not know much about the outside world, but I was still a king. As the Earth King, I was taught all the various ins-and-outs of rule, of politics and diplomacy and social etiquette (not like Long Feng gave me much of a chance to socialize). When I escaped Ba Sing Se with Aang...when I flew away on Appa...I abandoned the throne."

Smellerbee felt something jerk inside her gut; before she could stop herself, she said, "That's not true, it's - "

"I'm sorry." Kuei glanced away again, sighing, a light smile flitting across his face, the blue sky framing his profile - his long nose, his narrow chin, his spectacles. "I ran away and left my people at the mercy of the Fire Nation; I can't dare call myself their king after that, and I doubt they'd even want me."

A breeze whistled past, combing through Smellerbee's hair. This time, it was her turn to lapse into silence, as she glanced down at Bosco's head; the beast had lulled off into sleep, eyes shut, breath heavy and deep. Smellerbee envied him, in a way: he didn't have a care in the world, whatever happened , happened and he would (probably) still be there, just himself, just a bear. He didn't have any control over his own destiny, didn't necessarily _want_ it - he just wanted to eat and sleep. It would have been nice, being able to live that kind of life...

...though, maybe not. Smellerbee would make a very restless, cranky bear. Destiny was something to be grabbed by the horns and wrestled to the ground, the easy life be damned.

"Yeah, that makes sense," she said at last, drawing a deep breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"No, it's alright." The former Earth King stretched out his arms, arced his back, and yawned. "You've been busy, managing the fallout. Besides, after living a life in the wilderness, without only a handful of silver and copper pieces to get us by...all the riches and political power in the world don't amount to that."

"Heh, I hear you there, brother." Smellerbee hunched forward and smirked. "It's a helluva life."

"I'm kind of jealous, you know." Kuei chuckled, shaking his head. "Your life hasn't exactly been a walk in the courtyard, but to be as free as you are..."

"I wouldn't trade it for anything else." The swordswoman shook her head and let her eyes slide closed, smirk unfading. How funny was it that he'd picked up on her earlier thoughts about the easy life? "All the pain and suffering...all the loss, all the anger...it's made up for in spades. We're our own people. Nobody controls us, nobody tells us who we're supposed to be and how we're supposed to live. We're just us. And," she added, turning to Kuei once more, meeting his gaze, "you're more than welcome to come with us."

Kuei blinked - a blush wriggled up into his cheeks - and at last muttered, "R-really?"

"Well, it's _still_ not a walk in the courtyard," Smellerbee said, shrugging. "You'd be expected to help out somehow; you're able-bodied, and we've got a small community to maintain all by ourselves. We can teach you survivalist skills and ways to defend yourself - it's hard work, but the payoff is _so_ worth it."

"Hah!" A wide grin split Kuei's face, his eyes sparkling. "I - sure! Definitely!" He reached out and snagged Smellerbee's hand, wrapping both of his around hers and shaking it. Smellerbee laughed - his joy was contagious, bubbling up inside her stomach, rising up to her mouth.

After settling down...after Kuei released her, his hands smooth and warm and green, barely touched by his time on the road...the former Earth King straightened his shoulders and said, "Besides. It'll be a way for me to redeem myself to the citizens of the Earth Kingdom as a whole. A very small, but very important way to atone for my ignorance."

...whoa, damn. Smellerbee raised her eyebrows and scratched at her right temple, fingers digging into the coarse mane of hair. That was a hell of a thing; Spatula had said almost the same exact thing all those years ago. Kind of funny how that worked out, right? The two had a lot of common ground, she realized, and that was...wholesome. Sort of purifying. Easy to relate to.

"That works out, then," Smellerbee said, grinning. "Only a few more days till landfall, then a three day journey back to the forest...you'll love it there."

"'Where the leaves are orange all year round,'" Kuei recited, having learned the details from Smellerbee's traveling party on the way to Pan Xing. He beamed again and said, "I can't wait."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Two weeks after Sozin's Comet_

"Skillet!"

The door to the kitchen slammed open, and Skillet jumped on instinct, her heart hammering in her chest; she dropped her knife on the wood cutting board she'd been using and whirled around to see who had barged in - but the toes on one foot caught on the arch of the other and the world spun, the cook landing hard on her ass. She cussed, letting fall one of her most vile ones (oops, children present), and pushed herself to her feet, rubbing the offended tailbone with a ginger hand. Narrowing her eyes and grimacing, she turned to the intruder: Springtrap, a tall Earth Kingdom teenager with high cheekbones and a passion for sabotaging poaching and sport hunts organized by the Fire Nation.

Struggling to regain her composure, Skillet straightened out her apron and said, through clenched teeth, "What _is_ it?" She took a few steps towards the man, shoulders hunching instinctively, fists clenched; Springtrap fell back a step, holding his hands up as if ready to repel whatever Skillet would throw at him with a barrage of easily-decimated excuses.

Normally, she didn't mind being interrupted while cooking, so long as it wasn't trivial, but she'd been on edge ever since Sneers had left with Smellerbee and their field team. Being leader wasn't an easy gig; she'd gotten a taste of that responsibility while secreting Wind-Up and Bedrock away from the forest when the Overdweller invaded, and to be honest, the full course was a bit too much for her to stomach. She didn't have the capacity for the job that Jet, or Sneers, or Smellerbee exhibited. The stress of keeping the entire group afloat (even with Spike, Viper and Piper's aid), compiled with her normal responsibilities as head chef and teacher left her...cranky. That was probably the lowest common denominator right there, but she wouldn't be offended if somebody upgraded her to 'bitchy,' either. The truth only hurt if you didn't want to acknowledge it, after all.

"The - the field team!" Springtrap yelped, his voice cracking. "Sneers and Smellerbee and everyone. They're back from the Fire Nation!"

Wait.

What?

Skillet felt her mind come to a molar-gnashing halt, her body following suit and her mood vanishing. Her ears buzzed, but she could hear a murmured wave crest through the kitchen, whispers and squeaks and "what?"s and "did he say they're back?"s, and and and. And -

Before she could really register, she'd crossed the remaining distance to Springtrap and grabbed him by the biceps, glaring up into his eyes. "They're back," she echoed, and she felt her mouth tightening and eyes aching. It was way too easy to imagine the pressure she'd been keeping so tightly under wraps seeping through, a barely-controlled desperation peeling from her skin. If they were back, it meant - it meant the responsibility, the gnawing dread that had been gnashing at her belly since Sneers left, it would all - it'd all _vanish_, it would go away and she wouldn't have to be so many things that she wasn't anymore.

"They're back," Springtrap replied, eyebrows hiked, concern mingled with a pinch of genuine fear glimmering in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Really."

"..." Skillet narrowed her eyes. "If you're bullshitting me, I'll deep-fry your balls and force-feed them to you."

"I swear on the wellbeing of my manhood that this is one-hundred percent bullshit-free." Springtrap wriggled his way out of Skillet's grasp, wincing as he pried her hands off his upper arms, rubbing them with gentle hands. She hadn't realized he'd been holding him so tight. "Flitter and Flutter handed me the report. They'll be in range of the hideout in a few minutes."

Like a jolt, it finally sunk in, and, yes, they were _back_, it wasn't a lie, and if it was, then Springtrap had more than just his testicles on the line, that much was for damn sure. The hushed whispers in her kitchen had settled into a paralyzed, white-knuckled silence, and Skillet realized she'd perhaps let a little _too_ much of that stress out, going so far as even scaring her kitchen staff. Clenching her teeth and straightening her apron again, she turned her attention back towards those working under her purview. "Okay, people, change of plans. Sheen, you're on relay duty, get the rest of the staff in here _now_. The rest of you, start preparing a feast, because this _is _a reason to celebrate. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, so get moving!"

Immediately, everyone whirled around, again focusing on their duties, the cooks preparing their meals with extra fervor because they would need to move fast and work hard to produce the necessary volume of food, the cleaning staff redoubling their efforts to keep messes from breaking out, keeping utensils and garnishes in supply. It was like somebody had poked 'em all in the butt with a fork, they moved on it so quickly.

In the prickling, pending joy at being set free of her excess responsibilities, she felt a surge of pride swell up beneath her lungs. Her staff fucking _rocked_.

Sheen darted through the doors, squeezing past Springtrap; Skillet turned to the older man and said, "You - go sound the bell! Let everyone know, the Freedom Fighters have returned!"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

It'd been a long trip home, it felt like; sure, from the Fire Nation to here, thanks to the ships they'd stolen from Pan Xing, they managed to bypass most of the continental Earth Kingdom and arrived at an inland shore. Tack on a couple days on-foot, and the journey took maybe a week, tops; but maybe it was because Longshot hadn't been home in...

Wow. Not since he, Smellerbee and Jet had left for Ba Sing Se.

Could it have really been so long? Two seasons ago, more than that by a couple weeks, and he'd been in the midst of a metamorphosis, turning into a different person. One, upon reflection, he wasn't entirely proud of, probably because that person had only been a fledgling, fleeting ghost of what he would eventually become. Just a footnote. A steppingstone. If he could find some other analogy involving one's feet, he'd use it, but it wasn't worth the effort. Longshot was _home_.

The trees spanned high overhead, their boughs interlacing in an intricate weave, a blanket of sorts. Crimson leaves filled in the gaps, light filtering in through what void space was left, casting all beneath the canopy in an orange light - one that warmed the archer, added the final touch of a long-unfinished sense of completion that had been missing for a while now. The scent of honey wafted up into his nostrils, a dash of cinnamon mingled in as well, signaling the transition from summer to fall, the autumnal equinox come and gone while departing from Ba Sing Se. Twigs snapped beneath his boots, the leaves rustled against each other as a breeze passed through them, and - yes, in the distance, the hum of activity, clattering, wooden noises, the squeal of zip lines carrying children from one platform to the next, of...

Someone approaching, fast - to the right, sticks cracking underfoot, bushes rustling as legs brushed past. He had his bow out and an arrow nocked before he could realize it, aimed between two trees, where whoever charged at them would pop out. The other Freedom Fighters nearest to him tensed up, ready to bring weapons to arm -

"EeeeeEEEE - oophf!"

Instead of an aggressive attacker, or some idiot dumb enough to rush at over twenty armed guerillas, Skillet appeared through a thicket of trees from the direction of her kitchen and promptly tripped over a wriggling root squirming across the ground. She faceplanted, kicking up a cloud of dust, the cartoonish incarnation of the typical pratfall with her arms splayed out ahead from a failed attempt at catching herself and her legs hooked up into the air. The archer snerked, slid the arrow back into its quiver and brought a hand up to cover the grin that tugged on the corners of his mouth; he hadn't seen Skillet in a while, either, and had to admit that her clumsiness had a warm, familiar charm to it. If there had been any doubt left in his mind, Skillet's unique entrance back into his life served as the ultimate proof that he was home again.

The others weren't as successful in keeping their laughter in check; a shrill chorus of the stuff, bubbling and warm and radiating the same sense of dispelled subversive homesickness rolled up into the air in waves. Pipsqueak heaved a booming guffaw that thundered throughout the trees; The Duke collapsed backwards, kicking his legs and clutching his belly; Sneers snorted and let a strange, warm grin cross his face (probably the closest he could come to laughing while sober); and Smellerbee lost herself to it completely, doubling over, face red, high-pitched gales of laughter interspersed by the occasional snort, her face flushed crimson and tears streaming down her face.

Longshot felt kinda bad for laughing at Skillet's misfortune; schadenfruede wasn't really his thing. Then again, it was less that she'd tripped, and more that she'd tripped and brought familiarity back to them.

Skillet shook her head and pushed herself up to her hands and knees; she glanced up, a massive flush scrawled across her cheeks, and for a second she looked ready to drop a stinkbomb of obscenities. Then she, too, surrendered herself to a giggle fit, which only worsened when she struggled to get up, caught her foot on the same root, and sprawled back onto her stomach again.

In the midst of this uproarious mirth, Longshot saw Sneers step away from the field team, towards Skillet; he kneeled down before her and extended one gauze-wrapped hand. Still giggling, she took it, and Sneers hauled her up to her feet, smirking.

When the crowing settled down, and Smellerbee had managed to straighten up and brush the tears out of her eyes, she walked over to the chef and said, "Good to see you again, Skil."

"Oh _jeez_," Skillet said, her face split by a smile so wide that it almost disappeared around the frame of her face. "You have _no_ idea what a relief this is. Being in charge is a nightmare. I might have chops, but not the right _kind_ of chops. At least, not for that job."

Longshot quirked his head to the side and smiled. Yeah, he knew how that went. It wasn't all it was cracked up to be, was it?

Skillet planted her hands on her hips and quirked an eyebrow. "Damn straight. And look at you, Longshot - I haven't seen you in ages!"

It'd been a while, hadn't it? At last, he slung his bow back into place and cracked his neck. Thanks for the laugh. He needed it.

"Okay, you lot," Smellerbee turned around to address the field team. "Go back to the hideout; relax, unwind, weave tales of our victories and our losses to your friends. There'll be a celebration at dinner tonight. Skillet - ?"

"Already ahead of you. A feast is in the works as we speak."

"Okay, good. Longshot, Sneers, Pipsqueak, The Duke; we need to have a meeting, discuss business before we move on to the party."

Skillet crossed her arms over her chest and quirked her head to the side. "You guys have fun. I've got to go back to the kitchen, and - "

"That'll have to wait." Smellerbee hooked a thumb to Longshot, The Duke and Pipsqueak. "You're part of the core now, remember? Your input is just as important as everyone else's, and we got a couple things that need deciding."

"But the staff - "

"Has someone to fill your place, at least temporarily." Smellerbee cast a glance to the filtering away team - to one person in particular, trying to sneak off unseen. He froze in his tracks, feeling Smellerbee's gaze come to a stop over him, arms rigid at his sides, shoulders bunched up. Spatula risked a slow, wary glance towards the swordswoman and the chef standing beside her; Longshot wished he could do something to help the Firebender, but this was something for him to handle alone. Interfering wouldn't look good for the poor guy, but it didn't stop the archer from sympathizing for what would happen to the man. "We came across this guy at Pan Xing Island. He's a pretty good cook; makes a fantastic Ba Sing Se curry."

Skillet quirked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes; Longshot could see the flickers of recognition dancing across her face, but she couldn't quite pin down what was so familiar about her new cook. And why wouldn't it be difficult? Spatula had been rotund the last time she'd seen him. Now he was thin, muscular, and his face had lost its pudge, his jaw narrow and cheeks more defined. And the topknot might throw her off, too, since Spatula had kept his hair short-cropped and scruffy during his last stay.

The chef took a few steps over to the Firebender, a puzzled frown tugging down on her mouth. Longshot felt The Duke tugging on his sleeve; the archer leaned down and the young Freedom Fighter whispered, "Why aren't we telling Skillet that it's Spatula? I mean - what if she doesn't find out? It'd be exactly like last time."

Longshot furrowed his brow. That was a good question...but, if he knew Smellerbee at all, this was just another test. So far, Spatula had the blessing of every other member of the core to re-join the ranks of the Freedom Fighters...but to Longshot, it felt a lot like an all-or-nothing deal. This was the best way to find out if Skillet would have Spatula back; hopefully, she'd be able to see through the physical differences to recognize him, because spelling it out could be...detrimental.

"Nice vocabulary word."

The archer grinned.

Stopping a few paces away from Spatula, Skillet said, "Okay...you can cook Ba Sing Se curry."

"Best I've ever tasted," Pipsqueak and The Duke chimed in at the same time, earning a darting, venomous glare from Skillet; they flinched, curling backwards as if threatened with physical abuse, and Pipsqueak murmured, "Second to yours, anyway."

"I don't think that's why she shot us that look..."

Okay, guys, keep it down. Longshot cast a glance to the two Freedom Fighters. They all needed to hold their tongues.

"What else do you specialize in?" She probed, jutting her chin out at Spatula. "Can you roast sweet potatoes?"

"Six different ways, not counting garnishes, and that's just casual eatin's." Spatula seemed to regain his composure; like any other unfamiliar situation he found himself thrust into, his confidence bolstered when anything relating to the kitchen became involved. "If you really want to make it part of a meal, you have to slow-roast it on a spit, sprinkle salt on the skin, split it down the center, and cut a slice of butter inside. Set on a plate with lettuce, a side of tomato sauce and bitter-rich sauce in a cup for application as preferred by the consumer, and by the time it hits the table the butter has melted and you've got yourself a delicacy."

"Okay, okay," Skillet's expression shifted from one of befuddlement to one of intent, and suddenly Longshot realized that she was testing Spatula in her own right; it wasn't a matter so much as what Spatula knew to cook as how he _cooked_ it. "That's passable. Unusual choice of sides, but I can see that appealing to certain tastes."

"Damn straight it better."

"Pancakes?"

"Too many types. My personal favorite, though, if you'd be interested, is fruit salad pancakes; blueberries, cherries and strawberries, chopped up into tiny bits and mixed into the batter. Throw in a handful of crushed walnuts and sprinkle in some cinnamon; stir thoroughly, then pour the batter out onto a cooking tray oiled with butter. The butter adds flavor and helps the pancakes become fluffy; fluffiness is key in any pancake, and too much or not enough can ruin an otherwise sublime experience. Serve slathered with maple syrup, a slice of butter on top of the stack, and side a fruit syrup as an added touch." A grin twisted to life on Spatula's face and he hunkered forward, eyes narrowing. He was really getting into it; his posture shifted entirely, welcoming the trial and ready to hurl back anything Skillet pitched at him. The other Freedom Fighters watched in rapt silence, even Pipsqueak and The Duke, caught up in the tension of the moment. "Throw me a _challenge_."

"Okay. This one's unusual." Skillet threw back her head, her pigtails swishing in the air. Holding up a finger, she said, "What is the perfect recipe for a kabal skewer?"

"Three slabs of cow-crossbreed beef (although other animals will do if cow is unavailable, but you sacrifice quality in turn), and three peels of vegetables, including onion, garlic, lettuce, cabbage, celery and giant carrots. Cook each individual piece on an iron cooking tray covered with vegetable oil at approximately two hundred and seventy-five degrees for forty-five minutes, allowing the meat to cook all the way through and letting the vegetable oil flavor both the meat and the veggies. Thirty minutes into the process, apply a pinch of paprika, hot pepper flakes, cayenne pepper sauce, kabal spices and a dash of hot sauce. When finished, use an oakwood skewer - it _has_ to be oakwood or else the flavor won't hold as well - to impale the meat and veggies, alternating along the skewer's length. Serve hot and fast or else it will lose the punch and if you've done it right you've got one _happy fucking customer_ right there." He stood back, beaming, and rubbed a thumb beneath his nose.

"HAH!" Skillet crouched and jabbed a finger in Spatula's direction, brow furrowed and grin widening. "You had me going at first with the new look, but you couldn't fool me for a damn minute with a recipe like that, Spatula."

The Firebender shrugged, shook his head and smirked. "Of course, saw it coming from a mile away. I was the only one who ever cooked kabal skewers. You had trouble with the recipe, and I had to tone back the spices to appease your tender, wussy Earth Kingdom palettes."

Skillet turned her attention over to Smellerbee, hiking a brow. "I take it you all approve, despite the fact that he's...?"

"Fire Nation?" Sneers finished, planting his fists on his hips. "I gotta admit. I ain't that fond of him, but he _has_ been growing on us for the past few weeks."

"He helped us out in Pan Xing Island," Pipsqueak added. "He knew the prison better than any of us."

"He's proven himself to have the stuff Freedom Fighters are made of." Smellerbee nodded and let a sly grin cross her face. "So far as I'm concerned, he's earned his stripes. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page."

Hah, so Longshot had been right after all. It _had_ been a test. (A test inside of a test, in the long run.) To himself, he added, it was just like watching Smellerbee in front of Iroh and the others, passing their exams to gain entry to the Order of the White Lotus.

"Yeah, I figured you'd see through that." Smellerbee hiked an eyebrow at him. "That's why you kept The Duke and Pipsqueak from saying anything."

'Cause it was important for Spatula to stand on his own two feet.

"Exactly."

"So..." Spatula's expression became pensive, the complete confidence of his challenge already behind him. "Does that mean I'm back? That I can be a Freedom Fighter again?"

"You're on board." Smellerbee said, nodding again. "Skillet, your first orders?"

"Okay - go clean up, first, 'cause you probably haven't had a proper bath in a few weeks." Skillet crossed her arms over her chest. "Make it _fast_, though. Once you're done, report to Kettle in the kitchen and aide the others in preparing the feast."

A joyous, giddy, nigh-childish look crossed Spatula's face as a grin split his jaw; he chirped, "Yes, sir!" before turning on a heel and hustling towards the lake.

Good. Great. It was fulfilling knowing that Spatula had redeemed himself, had earned the right to return to his Second Chance. Longshot crooked his head to the side and let a ghost-smile brush his face, the corners of his mouth quirking up just the slightest bit. The man deserved it. These were a different Freedom Fighters, after all.

After Spatula vanished into the trees, Skillet glanced over to Smellerbee and hiked an eyebrow. "And...before, did I see a man with a bear?"

"Ah, um, yeah." Smellerbee scratched the back of her head.

"It...didn't look like any other bear I'd seen." Skillet eyed the swordswoman from the side. "Not a platypus bear, or a skunk bear, or an ape bear."

"It's just a bear," The Duke affirmed. "It's weird to us, too. We'll explain it on the way."


	14. Chapter 5, Part 4

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Eight: Coming Full Circle **

**Chapter 5, Part 4: The rest...is silence.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

As the story comes to a close, I want to thank the following people: SioUte, for inspiring me to follow through the adventures of Smellerbee and Longshot following the events of _Lake Laogai_ with her fantastic comic, _Plight of the Freedom Fighters_; SylvaCoer, whose excellent writing gave me a springboard on which to work with aforementioned characters and whose feedback has been precious; DoodleBuggy, for lending her unique style to the Freedom Fighter fandom; and finally, most importantly, Pandy, for cheering me on in my efforts and being my idea-bouncer-offer, and Tallulah, who has been my friend for something bordering on forever and has always supported me in all steps of the writing process. And an extra-special shout out goes to everyone who took the time to read this; without your support, I wouldn't have been able to write this story through to the end. Thank you all, very much!

As an additional present to those on and SkyeHawke, I've made a soundtrack for the story that you can find at the following link:

www(DOT)sendspace(DOT)com/file/b82vdi

Furthermore, I'll be hosting a Q&A sort of thing about the story, or my writing process, or whatever - even the question to the ultimate answer of Life, the Universe and Everything! Leave your questions in the comments, and keep an eye on this journal entry on my deviantArt page:

teisama(DOT)deviantart(DOT)com/journal/33374704/

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Two weeks after Sozin's Comet_

That night, as flickering torches cast licks of gold-orange light against the main hall and the stars filtered down between the gaps left by the leaves and branches, the aroma of so many intermingled meals took to the air. It wasn't a gentle smell, oh no; it was delicious, savory, it grabbed the honey-and-cinnamon scent of the forest and manhandled it, pinning it to the ground. Strong, yes, but in a _good_ way. Smellerbee hadn't had Freedom Fighter cooking this epic since leaving for Ba Sing Se. She had to slurp to keep from drooling, the feast, the banquet, the tantalizing, succulent boar stag meat, hot, buttered rolls, strawberries and cherries and onions and cheese and and and.

She couldn't start eating yet. She had to do this right, because there was only one chance at it; flub it up and it would not only be _mortifyingly_ embarrassing, the shameful, hide-your-head-in-the-ground kind of humiliation, but it would really dampen the moment.

She wasn't worried. She'd already done some of these speeches, and she knew what it was like to wield that sort of power, her body turned to living energy.

Besides, she was content enough to sit back and watch the others gorge themselves. Longshot, especially; he ate conservatively, of course, calm and steady even though he probably craved a belly full of Freedom Fighter cuisine even more than Smellerbee. (It'd be surprising if he didn't.) She could sense how ravenous he was, and how much willpower it took for him to keep from degenerating into a starving wolf cobra standing triumphant over a fresh kill.

The food had been splayed out on three long tables in the assembly hall - new, since their departure for Pan Xing - as well as the table she sat at now, all compliments of the construction crew. A short table, long enough to accommodate the Core - Skillet included, but acrophobia kept her feet planted firmly on the ground (it was nice of them to think of her, though) - sat at the head of the platform, overlooking the other three. Enough room for them to spread out, to eat...and she, herself, sat in the middle, Longshot on her left and The Duke on her right. Freedom Fighters, every last one who could afford to be up here, crowded the entire thing, and those who didn't have room sat on the floor, or in nearby tree branches, so full-packed that it reminded her of a small-scale version of the coronation ceremony. Funny how this was pretty much the same thing, only instead of Zuko becoming the Fire Lord, it was Smellerbee taking active leadership of the Freedom Fighters.

All this time she'd been expecting Sneers to put up a fight, like he'd promised. Yet he sat beside her, eating just as the others did, not even glowering or pouting. Strange how things worked out.

A tray of food had been set before her - no more grand than any of those whom sat beside and before her, but still majestic in its nature. Skillet's staff had remembered her preferences: a spicy slab of chicken tuna slathered in barbeque sauce, a red apple with a side of peanut sauce, those little cubes of muenster cheese, a wood mug full of the best Fire Whiskey they had in the stores...and as tempting as it was to tear into that last one, getting buzzed would only make the speech more likely to clunk.

The combined din of buzzing insects, the whispering of the leaves as they brushed against each other, chatter, utensils clattering against plates, and crunchy food being chewed on put a nice capper on this picture; everything that could have been right in the world _was_. When she felt enough time had lapsed, she pushed away from the table, unfurling herself, the dusty, red jacket she'd found in the clothing storage tied into place around her neck fluttering behind her, caught by invisible, sweeping fingers. The sleeves billowed as if possessed by life of their own, and the collar rose up to the hinge of her jaw...the coat was certainly not new but Freedom Fighters lived off second-hand items. This was no exception.

"Freedom Fighters!" She called; it took a few moments, but the noise settled down, and - yes, the electricity began crackling inside her, just beneath her skin, little tingles of the stuff for now, but it'd overtake her before long. With all eyes on her, she wrapped her hand around her mug and held it up into the air. "Today is the start of a new day. The beginning for a new era in the Freedom Fighters' history. This is a momentous occasion for us, for this family where blood does not tie us together, but rather one common event. The One Hundred Year War, the very thing that bound us, that intertwined our fates. Two weeks ago, that very war came to an end, and our mission as Freedom Fighters has been accomplished. Fire Lord Ozai has fallen, and we stand victorious!"

The Freedom Fighters broke out into a cheer, riled, like a torrent of rain hissing against the leaves and branches and platforms and ground, amplified to the point of deafening, and the thrill jumped, surged inside her, and her chest felt light, free, throat tingling - and, even though she had not sung for as long as she could remember, she could _swear_ her voice carried a melodic purity to it. Maybe because things were, finally, coming to a close.

When the raucous support settled, Smellerbee let a small frown pull downward on her face. "But first...we must set aside a moment to remember those who have fallen, those who we have not been able to properly bury. Mortar and Telltale, brave and courageous, standing up in the face of the Overdweller, sacrificing their lives to end the madness he sought to bring forward on us. Pine, Anchor, Greenleaf, Glisten and Cooler - no longer children, but men and women who gave themselves to the war, doing their part in the battle for Ba Sing Se. Surestance and Fletcher, a pair of the finest ostrich horses the world will ever see. And...Jet." Her eyes started to sting; she let them slide shut to keep any potential tears from falling because she _needed_ to be strong. "Our friend. Our brother. In many ways, our father; he started the Freedom Fighters so long ago, and he was the one to take in orphaned Earth Kingdom children, victims of the war...us." She brought her mug up to bear, holding it before her; the other Freedom Fighters - not just the Core, but those sitting at the other three tables - sensed Smellerbee's motive, and a few cups and saucers and mugs rose into the air. Slowly, at first, flecks amongst the assembled crowd, but as more went up, they came faster, readily, and, yes, they all knew it, it was a toast, an acknowledgement, a soft-spoken memoriam. "This is for the children, men, women and animals who stood by us during these trying times, whose lives were cut short by the barbarism of war. Their sacrifices shall never sink into obscurity, and may they find peace in the world beyond."

She brought the mug to her lips and tossed her head back, the burning, razor-hot liquid tearing into her tongue, seething and raging. She swallowed, and it dragged its claws all the way down her throat, into her stomach. It felt..._fitting_, it warmed her from the inside, and she grunted as she brought the mug away, coughing in a vain effort to get the dry pain out of her mouth.

She let a moment pass, allowing the toast settle in a respective silence, before continuing on. "With the war's end, we are a new Freedom Fighters; without the Fire Nation as our enemy, we have sought out alternate ways of using our resources, ways to keep our spirits, our lifestyles intact without breeching the culture we've created and lived in for what has been, for most of us, our entire lives. We all know where the Freedom Fighters have come from, and I can tell you where, exactly, we'll be going.

"First and foremost, we will shift our efforts from being guerilla soldiers to that of mercenaries. Our primary employers will be those in political power seeking to maintain the strenuous peace that will follow through in the next several years; these will create a steady source of income, capable of supporting us in the face of having no solid entity to call our enemy. However, in order to maintain our identity, our Creed which we have created and lived by, we shall continue to aid those in need, those who have nobody else to turn to, those who suffer and are helpless in the face of life, of the war's fallout." She spread her free hand out, gesturing not just to the Freedom Fighters but the world laid out before them, a world she had prepared for her friends, her family. "To meet these ends, several changes will take place in our structuring."

She lowered her mug, holding her chin high. "In order to prevent potential threats to figures of importance, and to ensure their efforts towards peace come to pass, we shall bolster the intelligence network that has already been started." She turned her attention to Sneers, sitting at Longshot's left, and gestured a hand his way; his eyes locked on hers, and seeing them - beady, black, glowing orange in the torchlight - brought her back to the office in Skillet's kitchen, a tiny, secluded place where they could assemble, could make big decisions without having to draw Skillet up into the trees.

_"I thought you said I'd have to pry the job from your cold, dead fingers,"_ Smellerbee had said, hiking an eyebrow.

_"I did. But...well, things change."_ His gaze had flitted away before coming to meet Smellerbee's, brow furrowing. _"I've seen you in action over the past month and a half. Without Jet, you've grown into your own person; you've developed a skill and style for leadership that I don't think I could ever come close to. I...messed up. With the Overdweller. In Ba Sing Se. And when I bumbled, you were always there, picking up the mess I made."_

_"I'm as prone to making mistakes as you are,"_ she had pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head, her fringe bouncing in and out of her line of sight. _"It doesn't make you any less capable as a leader."_

_"Well, maybe I don't feel __comfortable__ with it, alright?"_ He had scowled, and - and Smellerbee could see how hard it was for him to admit it, a personal flaw that he couldn't quash. _"Besides - I think I'm of better service to us in another form. I...respect you. You have the stuff it takes to be in charge, more than I do. So take it and run before I change my mind, Stinkbug."_

Brought back to the present, Smellerbee grinned and said, "Therefore, it's only appropriate for the man who started it to head up this new branch of Freedom Fighters. Sneers, this is your job; I know you will handle it responsibly."

Sneers smirked and threw up a salute, sincere and, yes, respectful of his new leader, a display of how much he trusted her. Although nobody cheered yet - waiting patiently for her to finish - she felt, _knew_ their support, and it supercharged her, made her ears, her cheeks tingle. She let a wide grin tear at her face. It was as if she'd been thrown into the midst of battle, only..._inspired_, instead of lost to bloodlust. Returning her attention to the body of the hall, she said, "In addition to his normal responsibilities, Sneers will act as one of my two second-in-commands; in the event that I'm not here, I expect you to treat him the same way you treat me.

"As for my other second in command, I have chosen one who has shown the potential for leadership and a propensity for inventive combat strategy." She turned to her right this time, glancing down; The Duke's eyes went wide, and when his helmet slid down over them, he pushed it back so suddenly that it almost flew clear off his head.

_"I don't think I'm ready yet,"_ he'd said, a small flush working across his cheeks. He glanced down to the floor, shaking his head, helmet sliding back and forth. _"I still haven't figured out my issues from Ba Sing Se. I don't have enough experience. Jet didn't raise me to be a leader like he did with you or Sneers. I didn't even really lead the others - I just gave logistical support to Hakoda. __He__ lead that small group, not me. It's no contest...I couldn't do nearly as well as you."_

"The Duke, in your journey, you guided your peers from one point to the next. You may not have lead your Freedom Fighters directly, but you proved yourself invaluable to us, and knowing that you have the capacity for leadership inside you, you will serve alongside Sneers as my lieutenant." She held her mug up to him, nodding. "In the meantime, I'm opening another branch of Freedom Fighters; as our foremost expert in engineering, you will head up our new research and development team, creating new weapons, armor, shields, and any other useful gadgets we could use for combat or to aid life around the hideout. You will be allowed to choose your team as you see fit."

Bewilderment flooded into his eyes, and Smellerbee could tell that this was too much for him to take in all at once - but he managed to gain some sense of his surroundings and, like Sneers, saluted, his jaw slack. She would have chuckled. He may have been an adult in mind, but when he showed how young he really was, it was the most adorable thing ever.

"These changes are just the start; in the past, we've had a team of builders aid us in constructing several huts and various other units of import throughout the hideout; with the Freedom Fighters reunited, there is only one man who can head up a project like that, and has done so in the past." Now, over to Pipsqueak; he perked up, a grin tugging up on his broad face, the excitement so apparent that it might as well have been a blob of jelly from a half-eaten sandwich on the corner of his mouth. "Pipsqueak, that's your job. You get things back in shape, and soon enough we'll have enough funding for you to go nuts with the place. Your crew is also in your hands.

"With these changes comes one more, one that comes with this new era, for the world and for the Freedom Fighters," she called. "The Fire Nation is no longer our enemy. And along the way, in the roads we'll traverse, we will encounter more than just Earth Kingdom citizens in need of help. There will be Water Tribe and Fire Nation orphans whose parents have been lost to the war, just as ours have been. We _must not_ neglect them, especially those from the Fire Nation. Our Creed has always stated that we shall help those in need, those too weak to defend themselves...we must look beyond the invisible boundaries Jet put into place. This will be hard for many of you, and I understand why...the Fire Nation took my family from me as well as yours, but maintaining the mindset we were given would make us no better than the Fire Nation. It will take time - hell, some of you might not be able to come to terms with it - but we need to expand our boundaries. Already, we've gained our first Fire Nation Freedom Fighter, a man whom I respect. This is a new age, and if we're going to walk the same road as the four Nations will in order to achieve peace, then we, too, need to become accepting of other cultures.

Finally, yes, the overflowing emotion from the crowd, waiting to be unleashed, thick and heavy and _there_, it crackled inside her, she was ready, _ready_ -

"The future shines brightly for us, and it's up to us to take advantage of it!" Her grin grew wider, that tingly-whoa sensation that started in her cheeks spreading down, out, all over, her arms, legs, chest, fingertips, even her nose, it was, it was _there_, thrilling, her pulse pounding in her head, neck, behind her ears. She kicked her chair around and hoisted herself on top of it, mug held high. "The world will always need Freedom Fighters, so we're gonna show 'em what the hell we're made of! _HOO-AH!_"

"_**HOO-AH!**_" It came back to her, so loud that her ears thrummed, it vibrated the chair beneath her, shook the trees with its might and force and passion.

And Smellerbee felt complete.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Later that night_

Maybe it was the booze.

They _had_ had a little to drink earlier tonight. Maybe that's why her face flushed and burned so hot, why her mind buzzed and thrummed, why her skin tingled. Maybe that's what had driven them to do this. Maybe that's what loosened him up. What loosened _her_ up.

Heh. They'd need to move into one hut at some point...it was kinda obvious, really. Even with a thin blanket of haze draped over her mind, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids, it just made so much sense. They might probably have even done so sooner, had the circumstances been any different.

That night in the nameless Earth Kingdom town, where they'd only had enough money for one room.

That fated moment in Omashu.

And, well..._everything_. It all lead up to one point, to this.

It felt...nice.

Maybe it was the booze...but probably not. His warmth made her flush. His presence made her buzz. His skin, on her skin...tingly. Perfect. Sublime. Ultimately, indescribable.

She felt him shift - groan in his sleep - and he buried his face in her hair, nuzzling it, breathing on her ear. She shivered - even when he couldn't help it, he knew what made her body alight with electricity.

Wrapping her arms around him, his back hard and toned and comforting beneath her hands, she rested her face against his chest, and let sleep take her.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_The next day_

It was like Smellerbee had said to Piandao at the White Lotus' campsite, and - and Longshot wasn't really sure what to make of it.

His chest felt heavy and his hands kept curling into fists; he kept having to unclench them, but every time he let his focus drift away, they just folded up again, like it still hurt to acknowledge this was really happening.

Maybe it did. He couldn't tell.

Nothing had changed. Longshot had kinda guessed Smellerbee would eventually give the tiger-hook blades back to their owner, one way or the other, even before she weighed it down with the heavy reality that was verbalization. She never said she'd try to master those swords, and she'd never called them hers; they were always "Jet's swords," even to the end of the war, and here they were, just another marker to the graveyard.

It was fitting. After all, like she'd said just before the battle for Ba Sing Se, without a war to fight, Jet should finally be allowed to rest. Every aspect of him. The swords would never draw blood again, never be used in action; they'd remain here, forever, tied to a wooden post with twine and brambles.

To make sure they wouldn't rust in the rain, exposed to the elements like this, Pipsqueak and Pestle had worked together to create a small shelter, made of rock and supported by wood. It was the only grave marker here to have one. The only one that _needed_ it.

The graveyard nestled inside a large clearing in the forest, not too far offset from the main headquarters. Trees stood in attention at all sides, straight and rigid and protective, as if they themselves understood the sanctity of this place. The ground was a patchwork of lush, soft grass and barren dirt, and a few roots squirmed and wriggled their way into the clearing proper, coming to a halt shy enough so that they didn't invade too offensively. Sunlight filtered in between the trees, through the leaves above, casting brilliant, yellow-white lances highlighted with pollen and dust onto the ground, the grave markers. The Freedom Fighters had to start it a few years ago, during that bad winter where food was scarce and warmth only came from other people. They hadn't done a lot of fighting at the time; any raids they managed to pull off with any degree of success yielded stale bread and frayed, parchment-thin blankets that had been chewed up by moth worms. The older Freedom Fighters went without food for the most part...that was okay, starvation was familiar to every Freedom Fighter. It was more important for the young ones to get something in their bellies...unfortunately, it wasn't always enough to keep them all alive. They'd lost seven kids that year.

As soon as the ground became soft enough, they dug small holes, one for each kid, and impaled branches chopped to about three feet in length in the ground. Mortar and Pestle used Earthbending to keep the markers in place - that was the extent of their ability at the time - and a personal effect, something each child had been well-known for, or had treasured in life, had been attached to the marker representing them. Their names were carved into the wood in the event that the memento became lost to Mother Nature or a roaming animal - and some had, over the years - but unfortunately, that was all they could do.

When Freedom Fighters died, the chances of recovering their bodies was slim, for a variety of reasons. In the case of those poor, frozen children, their bodies were just too stiff and heavy, and the ground wouldn't have yielded to their shovels; there wasn't any sense in keeping them for two months when room was tight already. Longshot had helped Pipsqueak, Sneers and Jet move them away - far away, where the animals would have something to eat. It never bothered him when he thought about that, because it was one way of returning a lost soul back to the earth from which they'd come. Some others had been uncomfortable with it, he remembered Pipsqueak looking particularly green at the time...but if it still squirmed around inside the giant now, it didn't show.

It wasn't just those seven, though. The children that had died in Ba Sing Se couldn't be recovered because there was no efficient way of transporting them from there to Hong Ye. All that remained of Surestance and Fletcher, their precious, _beautiful_ ostrich horses, were two rough-hewn, clay urns full of ash...and two eggs, found by Teo where the mounts had been tied during the battle for Ba Sing Se. He and Smellerbee hadn't even known Fletcher had been...well, they were there, regardless, and currently waiting to hatch in the Freedom Fighters' infirmary.

And Jet's body...

Longshot shuddered as he thought of his best friend's corpse lying still and cooling and smeared with blood and _dead_, the Dai Li just ignoring it, gathering up his swords and collapsing the room behind them. That it had been crushed, flattened, turned to a mass of torn flesh, powdered bone and ruptured, squished organs. _That_ disturbed him. It was such a disrespectful way to send a friend off, and he hadn't even been able to help it.

Mortar and Telltale were part of a fortunate minority. While most grave markers had been kept close together, to conserve space, a handful of others had been spread out, allowing for more room. Those ones had bodies resting beneath the soil, already repaying the earth for their time upon it with the nutrients their physical forms would provide. He could tell which ones belonged to the most recently passed: Telltale's marker had a plush platypus bear hanging from the front, his favorite toy, while Mortar's bore a blueprint scroll she and Pestle had made together for the construction of Skillet's new kitchen, after Spatula had burned down the last one.

Neither would last very long in the elements, but nobody really seemed to mind. That was just the way of things.

Jet's swords were the exception. They _had_ to be the exception. The Freedom Fighters had been inspired and lead by the one who owned those swords. They were a part of Freedom Fighter history, of their culture.

Keeping them somewhere other than the graveyard would have made Jet angry, affronted, because he never treated himself as any better than the rest. But they still needed to be preserved.

Fletcher and Surestance had grave markers, as well; since the ostrich horses had been his and Smellerbee's, they each chose something appropriate to hang for them. They had picked the Earth Kingdom shawls that had been draped over their sides, beneath their saddles - Smellerbee had had to remove them for their infiltration into the Fire Nation. They flapped almost majestically in the soft, tickling autumnal breeze, adding to the surreal quality of the place, of being here...

The other Freedom Fighters assembled behind him - most of them anyway, there was only so much room here, and even though the air had been laced with a cool chill, the amount of people trying to fit into the clearing radiated enough heat to make him feel kinda like he was suffocating.

The rest would have to wait to pay their respects.

Smellerbee stood to his right; turning to her, she noticed her eyes glistening, threatening to spill over as her gaze swept across the new, fresh graves, stopping on Jet's.

Was she going to be okay?

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes, trying to hide the pending tears. "I...come on. Let's go."

Yeah. It's time. He nodded, and the pair approached the gravestone together - but alone, nobody else followed, nobody else came near, not The Duke or Pipsqueak or Sneers or Skillet or Spatula or Pestle or _anyone_. The rest of the group understood. Longshot and Smellerbee needed to go first to say their farewells, to pay homage to their fallen friend, brother, leader.

He heard his feet crunching against twigs, scuffling through grass, grinding against dirt - but distantly, and he couldn't feel his legs as he moved, his head buzzing. It was like losing Jet all over again after all...he'd been so busy running, running, running following Lake Laogai that he never really got to sit down and _think_ about it. Jet's murder. How he would no longer be a part of Longshot's life.

"Me, too," Smellerbee admitted, voice low. "Longshot...I know I can go on without him. I'm going to do it no matter what. But it still hurts. Is that bad...?"

They stopped in front of Jet's grave, the swords glittering and gleaming beneath the stone awning made to protect them. He shook his head; no, it wasn't bad at all. It was natural. She shouldn't doubt herself, especially not after having come this far.

She chuckled, a wry grin curling up on her lips. "You're right, of course...okay. Okay."

Smellerbee lowered herself to her knees, resting her hands on her lap, her head bowed down; Longshot followed suit, the grass prickling him through his pants. He reached a hand upwards - realized it had curled into a fist again, drew a slow breath, unclenched it, and pinched the brim of his hat. He pulled it away, slow, gentle, as if - unusual, alien, but he'd done it _plenty_ of times before...

It must have been the context. This was unfamiliar ground, and hopefully he'd never have to trod it for a long time. He rested his hat on his knees and lowered his head as well, almost pantomiming Smellerbee, his eyes squeezed shut, enveloping him in darkness...only the unsettled shuffling of the other Freedom Fighters mingled with the sound of the breeze, the birds, the bugs. The smell of cinnamon plucked at his nose, sublime and delicious and so much part of the home he loved.

Where to start...? He felt his cheeks tingle - his face worked on its own, trying to force a smile out of him, but only because he couldn't really figure out whether he should be happy or sad. Jet finally had the peace he deserved...but here, now, looking at the grave...it opened the wound again. Even though Longshot bowed his head to keep the glistening arcs of his swords out of sight, they just reminded him that Jet was gone, and that he'd never come back.

As silence blanketed him, suffocating him, he came to realize that Smellerbee had started humming from beside him. He wasn't sure how long she'd been doing it, or even how long he'd been sitting here at this point, but she hummed anyway, a slow, mournful song that tickled Longshot's memory. He couldn't quite place it, but...but it stirred, he felt his body crossing that emotional line he'd drawn for himself. His mouth curled down into a tight, unmasked frown, and even though he scrunched his eyes tight, they still stung and tears still managed to squeeze their way out. He swallowed back a lump that lodged itself in his throat.

"_...leaves from the vines, falling so slow..._"

His ears perked, but he didn't dare look over. Smellerbee had told him once, long ago, that she used to sing as a child...that people told her she had a voice like golden bells chiming. That she stopped because the Fire Nation had stolen her voice as well as her family, and there wasn't really any _need_ to sing after that. It didn't matter if her voice had been muffled by smoke and destruction; listening to her sing, here, _now_...it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world.

"_...like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam...little soldier boy, come marching home...brave soldier boy...comes marching home..._

"Jet," Smellerbee whispered, her voice a spider snake's sigh, the song evaporating from her tongue. "We did it. The war is over. We won. And the Freedom Fighters...I'm going to make something of them. We all are, me and Longshot and everyone. We'll carry your legacy, we'll make sure the future falls into place for us, for the world. Because we operate in the shadows. That's how it's always been, right? The Freedom Fighters have never been in the spotlight, we never wanted to be. And that's fine. We don't mind passing up on the glory. We just want to make things _right_.

"I...the world won't be the same without you. I'll always love you. You saved me, you and Longshot saved me, from the Fire Nation, from myself, from a life alone and with nobody to turn to. That was the basis for the Freedom Fighters, how they worked, how _we_ work. You might not be happy with some of the things I'm doing...but I've got to prepare the Freedom Fighters for the future. One where the Fire Nation isn't all evil, where they can't be viewed in blacks and whites." She took a deep, shuddering breath, her voice shaking. "But I swear I'll do right by you. We'll keep moving. There will always be a need for Freedom Fighters, and you set us all on that path."

She fell silent, and Longshot waited for a few seconds - to see if she wanted to continue - but she didn't, and so it was Longshot's turn to, to say goodbye. He took another deep breath, tried unclenching his fists again - failed - and opened his eyes, absorbing the sight of those deadly, curved, wicked swords, glistening, quicksilver in the sunlight.

"Jet," he murmured. "Thank you."

That was all that needed saying.

He clambered up to his feet, offering a hand down to Smellerbee; she glanced up at him, eyes and nose red, also crying...easy to understand, so sad, this event so somber...

She reached out to him and clasped his wrist tightly in her gloved hand; he clamped down around her wrist in return, and pulled her up to her feet. Their eyes met for a moment, and...

They turned together and drifted away from the graveyard, leaving the past behind them as Pipsqueak and The Duke started towards the marker. Longshot cast his gaze upwards, to the golden boughs and crimson leaves stretching overhead, sheltering them, housing them.

The era where words failed had come to an end, and all they could do now was look to the future.

_**Where Words Fail**_

**End**

_"When I get older, I will be stronger, they'll call me freedom, just like a wavin' flag..."_


End file.
